


Deliver Us

by Bittodeath



Series: Deliver Us AU [1]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Autistic Character, Background Relationships, Big Brother Anakin, Blind Character, Brotherhood, Crack Treated Seriously, Deaf Character, Eventual Background Rex/Anakin, Eventual Background Rex/Padmé/Anakin, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Fix-It of Sorts, Force-Sensitive Clones (Star Wars), Gen, Happy Ending, Jango Fett Lives, Jedi, Mandalorian Culture, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Star Wars: The Phantom Menace, Pre-Star Wars: The Clone Wars, Slow Burn, Stewjon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:34:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 48
Words: 134,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23910154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bittodeath/pseuds/Bittodeath
Summary: Jango Fett cannot save all his clones, but he can save five. He can save five, if he's willing to entrust them to the Jedi. Not just any Jedi, though. One who has already defied their Code for a child. One who knows Mandalorian culture. It is worth it, to save five innocent lives.He had no way of knowing it would change the galaxy and throw the proverbial spanner in one Sith Lord's plans.
Relationships: Jango Fett/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Series: Deliver Us AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1814314
Comments: 3285
Kudos: 2946
Collections: Deliver Us AUs





	1. The Sending

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea for this fic while listening to the song "Deliver Us" from Prince of Egypt and thinking about how well it applied to the clones.  
> A few things I want to clarify before we go:  
> \- In this fic, Force-sensitive Clones are quickly culled. Aside from the five OCs, there will be no other Force-Sensitive clone.  
> \- The focus will be on family relationships (there will be Jango/Obi-Wan eventually, but it won't be a focus and will take a long time to happen).  
> \- I'm not sure yet what kind of rating and Archive Warnings will be needed for this story, but it'll be updated once I know.  
> \- Mando'a translations at the end (I won't put the recurring ones every time, though). I'm only getting started with Mando'a so bear with me.

Jango thinks he’s damned good at controlling his temper, but this time, the long-necks have gone too far. He’s never agreed with their practice of culling, but try as he might, he can’t get them to stop. He can only save some of the clones. He stares hard at Taun We, arms crossed over his chest.

“And why do you think this _whole batch_ needs to be culled?” he growls, but the Kaminoan scientist doesn’t seem to get his tone.  
“They are defective in several ways”, Taun We replies. “All of them have displayed unusual capacities, breaking objects and levitating them. They are dangerous to the rest of the clones.”

Jango feels his eye twitch. He knows what that means – the damn kids are Force-sensitive, that’s what it means. Mandalore lost enough of its children to the damn thing, and… he can’t really say Taun We is wrong. Some of the kids got this blank look on their face, never came back and eventually died. Others injured or even, sometimes, killed others with accidental displays of power. Yes, Force-sensitivity is goddamn dangerous, and he knows that controlling this power is what the Jedi do. But there are no Jedi here.

“They do the same thing the Jedi do. They could be damn useful.”

Taun We gracefully shakes her head.

“CT-3381 was hatched blind”, she replied, “and CT-3382 is deaf.”

Jango grits his teeth. He’d known damn good warriors who were one or the other, but in an army, he knows that’s not the kind of acceptable disability. They’d quickly get themselves killed, or others. It doesn’t make it easier to bear.

He doesn’t even need to look at CT-3383 and CT-3384 to know what kind of “defect” make them unfit for the army. It’s not their fault, it’s his own, and he feels his throat tighten. Like most of Mando’ade, his DNA is only half human, if even that. Their habit of adopting people, even from other species, means cross-breeding. He may look human and mostly be like one, but he sure as fuck is not.

And of course his clones have to reflect that. Sometimes, this alien DNA comes out in unexpected ways and it drives the long-necks crazy. Different eye and hair colour, they can stand – after he argued that it had no effect on the clones capabilities, a fight he really didn’t like having. But this? He looks at CT-3383. He’s still just a damn baby, hatched barely two hours ago. A fucking new-born, with delicately webbed hands and feet, small, twitching head tentacles and green-tinged skin. Nautolan DNA making itself known. It just means the boy cannot fit a regular trooper armour. Jango feels like breaking something.

CT-3384 is part Togruta. Not by much, but his vestigial montrals and lekku mean he won’t fit a regular helmet either. He’s also likely to be taller than his brothers, and leaner. His skin has more red than Jango’s, but it’s a damn pretty colour. The kid is beautiful. It’s a strange thing to think of one’s clone, but it’s true.  
He tears his eyes away from them, and looks at the last one. CT-3385 is red and crying, visibly unhappy, and no one does a damn thing to help him. They just let him cry, not caring about _why_. Why he’s screaming his little lungs off. Aside from that, Jango can’t see anything wrong with him. Maybe, like with CT-3382, it’s not something he can see – now that he’s paying attention, he can tell CT-3381 is blind.

“And this one? He looks like all the others. Surely you won’t cull a clone because the rest of his batch is defective.”

He can’t help the sneer in his voice, nor does he want to.

“Brain scans showed that-”

He doesn’t understand half of Taun We’s explanation. Too scientific, he’s smart but he doesn’t have the knowledge needed for that.

“Simpler”, he barks. “What is wrong with him?”

Taun We seems to think for a moment, searching for an explanation he will understand.

“Think of the brain as wiring”, she says eventually. “CT-3385’s brain isn’t wired the right way, reprocessing won’t change that, and he cannot be an effective soldier.”

Jango restrains the urge to throttle Taun We and wring out her neck. It had never been so strong. He knows what she meant; he’d met people with the ‘wrong wiring’ before. Taun We is right: they don’t make good soldiers. But some of them were the sweetest people he’s ever known. Others were exceptionally gifted – hell, there are accounts relating that the Mando’ad who first designed _beskar’gam_ was one of them. Either way, this doesn’t sit right with him.

They won’t be culled before the following morning. That’s very little time, but it’s time anyway. He’ll take what he can. He turns on his heels without a word. He can’t. Kids are everything to the Mando’ade, and way too many have already suffered and died under his watch. Not these five. Not if he can help it. He sets his jaw, and gets down to work.

*

It’s the middle of the night, when he sneaks into the nursery and finds his batch, sleeping in a separate room. Not knowing what is waiting for them – he’s grateful for small mercies. The ship is ready, with a separate area for him to put the kids. He’s reprogrammed a nurse-droid to obey his orders, and its waiting for him to bring the little ones. He sneaks them aboard, one by one, little bundles of cloth held in the crook of his arm. Not bigger than Boba was five years ago. He sets the course to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, and leaves a flimsi letter in one of the cribs. It’s all he can give.

“Alright”, he breathes, and luckily the kids are still sleeping. He’s not sure he could do this if they weren’t. “ND-99, recapitulate your orders.”  
“I am to care for the children until arrival in the Jedi Temple of Coruscant, and release them in the care of Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi. If the ship is compromised and the delivery cannot be made, I am to practice a lethal injection on the children.”

He really didn’t like programming this bit, but what he was doing was damn risky. If it failed, he wouldn’t let the kids die to starvation or suffocation – he’d make sure they’d have a quick, merciful death. It’s all he can do, giving a prayer to whichever god will listen to him to let them live. He brushes a cheek, a forehead. Commits them to memory.

_“Re'turcye mhi, adiike.”_

It will take time before he knows what became of them, if he ever does.

He really does hope he’ll see them again.


	2. Arrival at the Temple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you're a Jedi, you see strange things.  
> Receiving five clone babies, however, is a new one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god guys I didn't expect such a positive answer to this silly idea! I'm, wow.  
> Erm, anyway, if you have questions, please keep on asking them because:  
> 1) It might be something that slipped my mind and you're helping me avoid a plot-hole.  
> 2) It might be something I haven't made clear enough, and so I'll clarify either in my answer or in the notes of the following chapter.  
> 3) It might be something I'm going to answer later in the story, in which case I'll tell you.
> 
> Updates will be on Wednesdays. Consider this chapter an outlier, a present for May the 4th, both because it's early (with a very real possibility of update on Wednesday still) and for its length.
> 
> CLARIFICATION: Up to this point, everything has been canon-compliant. Obi-Wan and Jango have never met, and Obi-Wan has literally _no idea_ who Jango is.

Obi-Wan isn’t used to being woken up at dawn. Sure, he wakes up early on his own, but Anakin is fifteen and would sleep until midday if he let him. Whoever has just woken him up better have a good reason, because they’re just back from a mission and he had really looked forward to some peace and rest.  
Whoever woke him up also woke up Anakin, who stumbles out of his room, rubbing bleary eyes. His Padawan braid is unmade and his long, gangly limbs all over the place. Yeah, fifteen really isn’t a good age. Anakin eats like a damn sarlacc, grows like a Wookie, and has no idea what to do with a body that suddenly shot up, leaving him unsure of where his extremities are.

“Master?”  
“Anakin”, he greets him with a nod, before he opens the door.

He really wasn’t expecting Master Windu to be standing there, arms crossed and expectant.

“Master Windu? It’s early”, he says, biting back a yawn.  
“Is there something you want to tell me, Obi-Wan?” the Head of the Order asks, and there isn’t a trace of humour in his voice.

Obi-Wan blinks at him.

“Master, you’re the one who woke me up”, he replies. “If anyone has anything to say, it’s you.”

Mace is mad, and he has no idea why. He’s just making sense, not sassing him. Not this early in the morning.

“Not even a… fruitful escapade you’d want to confess?”

Obi-Wan can’t help it: he stares at Mace like he’s just grown two heads.

“A what? You make no sense, master. Have you gotten hit on the head?”

 _What’s wrong with him?_ Anakin asks through their bond.  
_I have no idea._

“I’m trying to figure out why would someone send you five _babies_.”

Obi-Wan blinks.  
“If they’re Force-sensitive, then they were sent for the crèche. It wouldn’t be the first time kids were abandoned on our steps. Why would you wake me up for that?”  
“Because the babies weren’t sent to the Order, they were sent to _you_ , specifically, or so the droid says. And while I’ve got the feeling they _are_ Force-sensitive, I can’t tell for sure because the damn droid won’t let us get close until you’re there.”

Obi-Wan opens his mouth, before what Mace said finally hits him. His jaw clamps shut, eyes bulging out.

“Someone sent _me_ babies?! Force, what for?” His eyes widened even more. “Were you asking if these babies were _mine_?!”

His outburst sends Anakin cackling, now that the implications of Mace’s words have hit. The Korun master seems to settle at his flailing, and nods.

“Please. No matter what, these little ones spent several days in hyperspace. They need caring from living, breathing people, not just a nursedroid.”

Obi-Wan nods, ducks back inside to grab a robe, and nearly runs after Mace to get to the hangar where the ship landed. There’s a bunch of Jedi whispering excitedly already, and Anakin is tripping on his own feet after him. The nursedroid is at the ramp, forbidding anyone from entering, and Obi-Wan goes up to it.

“I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi”, he says, offering his ID for scanning. “I’ve been told you got something for me?”  
“Here, Master Jedi”, the nursedroid says, once his identity is confirmed. “I am to release them into your care.”

Obi-Wan walks in, and stops, stunned. There are five cradles with new-borns, all with their eyes wide open, all shining in the Force. One of them is unusually strong, the others are about average to be trained as Jedi… and they all share the same features. He quickly sees the piece of flimsi in the nearest crib, and picks it up. The Aurebesh characters are neat, written with a firm hand.

_Kenobi,_

_Your Order owes me the lives taken at Galidraan. This is the only thing I can do to save the kids from certain death. You have an unusual apprentice in your care, and you know what makes a Mandalorian. I entrust these children to your care, so that they may be safe from the Force, and raised following the Resol’nare as much as you can, being a Jedi._

He re-reads the letter three times before folding it and tucking it in the pocket of his robes. The little one in the crib is staring at him, dark eyes shining with intelligence, mouth open on toothless gums, and Obi-Wan slowly reaches to pick him up. He’s the one strongest in the Force, shining not as bright as Anakin, but enough to rival with Master Yoda.

“Hello, little one”, he says. “Do you have a name?”

The nursedroid is waiting nearby, and it pips up at his question.

“This is CT-3385, sir.”  
“CT- What the _kriff_. Alright, we’re taking them to the Healer.”

He grabs the cribs’ control, stuffs it in his pocket, the baby not taking much place in his arms, and comes out of the ship. The assembled Jedi stare at him, with the baby cradled against him and the five cribs floating after him, and he nods to Master Windu before heading to the Halls of Healing. Bant is already preparing to receive them, Chief Healer Hecate having started to train her to take her place about three years ago. With the help of the nursedroid, she identifies each of the babies with a little bracelet bearing the code given to them – and Obi-Wan despises it. Numbers? It would have been better for them not to have names. This… this felt like they weren’t seen as sentients.

“Wherever they came from, these five have had all the vaccinations babies that age need”, she says. “And as far as I can tell, only these two have health problems. I’m afraid little CT-3381- Force, it weirds me out to call them like this. Please, tell me they’ll be given names.”  
“I’ll see to it”, Obi-Wan replies, looking at the babies anonymously entrusted to him. To be raised as Mandalorians. Why not send them to the Mando’ade? _Following the Resol’nare_. He nearly slaps himself for his stupidity. Of course. The New Mandalorians don’t follow the Resol’nare, the Death Watch is, if rumours are to be believed, extinct, as are the True Mandalorians – slaughtered at Galidraan, in fact. “Tell me everything you can.”

Master Windu is standing nearby, listening intently.

“This one was blind at birth. The optical nerves are damaged, there is nothing we can do. And this little one has damaged eardrums. He’d likely hear a cannon going off, but little else.” She looks up, and seems troubled. “Master”, she says to Windu. “They’re clones.”  
“Clones of whom?”  
“A Mandalorian warrior, I’d say”, Obi-Wan answers, giving the letter to Windu.  
“Well, apparently, their DNA is 97% identical to that of Jango Fett. Bounty hunter, born on Concord Dawn. No one has seen him in a while”, Bant answers, reading off a data-pad. “And they’re all Force-sensitive.”

She points at each of the children as she rattles off numbers: “8 300, 9 100, 7 600, 9 500 and…” she takes a breath, “14 900.”

“Definitely within the margins to be accepted at the Temple”, Obi-Wan replies with a nod. “Anakin, what, exactly, are you doing?”

Anakin has picked up one of the babies – the blond one with golden eyes, the one whom Bant described as deaf – and is looking at him in wonder, the kid staring back with wide eyes. Between them, the Force is stirring, joyful, wrapping them in warmth, and Anakin grins and laughs, a hand spread on the baby’s belly.

“Can you feel how happy they are?” the Padawan asks in amazements. “Force, it’s… I’d never felt anything like this. We’re keeping them, right, Master?”

Obi-Wan opens his mouth to deny – _I entrust these children to your care_ – and closes it, eyes falling on CT-3383. The part-Nautolan clone is staring back at him, wide black eyes blinking slowly, and he feels the call in the Force. Feels the tendrils of bonds already forming between him and each of the children, their own brotherly bonds firmly established. He reaches out, and CT-3383 grabs his finger.

Reality falls away, and Obi-Wan blinks in the sunlight. He recognizes the Temple, specifically, the Room of a Thousand Fountains. He feels his own happiness, radiating in the Force, feels the muscles of his face pulling as he grins widely. He’s crouching, arms wide open.

“Come to me, Runi! Come see your _buir_!”

A giggle answers and a child no older than five peeks out from behind a bush, before running into his arms. He hugs the little kid – the clone, CT-3383, he’d recognize that presence in the Force anywhere and _when did that happen?_ and the vision fades away.

His cheeks are wet with tears and he gasps, eyes falling on Runi, who shines smooth and soft in the Force. Master Windu has a hand on his shoulder, steadying him, and he wipes at his eyes.

“Kenobi? What did you see?”  
“Runi”, he answers, and picks the baby up. “This one is Runi, and he’s in my care.”  
“What? Obi-Wan-”  
“They’re all in my care. Whoever sent me to them was guided by the Force.”  
“Obi-Wan, the best we can do is give them to the crèche-”  
“No. They were sent to me. I’m keeping them. I’m raising them. _Ba'jur bal beskar'gam, Ara'nov, aliit, Mando'a bal Mand'alor — An vencuyan mhi._ ” 

He turns to Mace, his eyes wide with wonder. “The first Mandalorian Jedi in centuries, Master Windu. This is our chance to right the wrongs of Galidraan.”

“This is not our ways!”  
“Fine”, Obi-Wan replies, jerking his hand, “make me a crèche master and let them be my clan. This is the will of the Force, and it is our duty as Jedi to follow it.”  
“I’ll help”, Anakin says, unusually serious. “Let me be a big brother, someone they can look up to. Let me take care of them.” He looks back to the baby in his arms. “How can you not see how Light the path they just opened is”, he whispers in wonderment.

Obi-Wan glances at Master Windu, who is frowning like he has a headache. He usually gets like that when a major shatterpoint is being reached, and Obi-Wan knows there are many of them centred on and around his Padawan. He looks back at Runi.

“ _Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad_ , Runi”, he declares.  
“DAMMIT Obi-Wan!” Mace roars, clutching his head, and Obi-Wan nearly laughs.

Major shatterpoint.

He had never thought he would say those words one day, and he’s surprised at how well and easy they fall from his lips. He’s pretty sure Runi would be laughing if he was old enough to – as it is, the echo of his joy can be felt in the Force. If the Council can’t see how _right_ this is, they have a serious problem.

Mace sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’ll call in a Council session. This is unprecedented.”

Anakin is still cradling the little blond clone in his arm, a tiny hand clutching his finger. Obi-Wan can feel love pouring from his Padawan, unashamed and unbridled. Anakin always loved hard and strong, and Obi-Wan can’t deny he was worried about that. There is so much love to be given in Anakin Skywalker, and the little ones are perfect recipients. For the first time since he took Anakin as his Padawan, Obi-Wan isn’t nearly as afraid as he was.

“Master”, Anakin calls, “meet Tracyn. From what I Saw, he’ll be a handful.” He grins at that. “Definitely worthy of being my brother.”

The look in his eyes nearly makes Obi-Wan reconsider. He already has his hands full with Anakin and his training, can he really afford to raise five Force-Sensitive babies? His eyes fall on CT-3381, sightless eyes staring straight ahead. Gently, he puts Runi in his crib and picks up his brother. He’s already using the Force instead of his lost sight to understand his surroundings, his presence curious and slightly displeased – he’s hungry.

When he turns, Mace has left already, and a Padawan healer is preparing baby bottles. He picks up one, sits down and starts to feed the baby in his arms. He feels, in the Force, that he can’t leave yet, no matter how many things he has to do. He can’t leave before he’s gotten to know each one of them, before all of them are named. It’s important. He's not exactly sure of the limits of his body right now, either. He feels like he’s everywhere at once. Anakin has picked another bottle and is feeding Tracyn, fumbling just a little, but like all Jedi he has spent time in the crèche, learning the needs of babies.

CT-3381 settles, his presence getting warmer, more comfortable. He knows he is safe, tufts of black hair curling on his head, and Obi-Wan feels their bond strengthen. He blinks, one moment feeding a voracious baby, the next, he is standing on a battlefield with a young teen.

“I’ll hold them off, _buir_. The Force is with me, and so are my brothers. Finish the mission.”  
“Skira”, he says, feeling confidence and dread battling in his heart – he knows his child is skilled, but he’s still so young, and the danger is everywhere. He gulps down the knot in his throat, and grabs his son’s nape to bring their foreheads together. “ _K'oyacyi_ ”, he whispers between one breath and the next.  
“ _Slana, buir_ ”.

There’s the sound of two lightsabres igniting, and Obi-Wan is back to the Halls, back to the present and the baby in his arms. Skira has finished his bottle, and Obi-Wan lifts him to his shoulder and pats his back to get a burp out. Skira, in spite of his name, is sated and content. Obi-Wan brushes his finger over his nose and his cheek. It isn’t a name fit for a Jedi, but for a Mandalorian? It’s perfect.

“ _Nuhoyi_ , Skira.”

It feels strange, how easily the words come back. He hasn’t really spoken Mando’a since he last saw Satine, but it’s still there. Held close to his heart. He puts Skira back in his crib and ruffles Tracyn’s blond hair, before he picks up the part-Togruta clone. Anakin has settled Tracyn back in his crib and picked up the fifth baby to feed him before he wakes his brothers.

“CT-3384”, Obi-Wan hums. “That’s not much of a name, is it?”

CT-3384’s dark, human eyes are staring back at him, impressively alert for one so young. Obi-Wan has a feeling he’ll go white before his time with this one. The baby has been fed already, but he doesn’t seem to care much for a nap, so Obi-Wan instead takes to rocking him gently. He’ll have to refresh his memory on lullabies, as the only songs coming to his mind at the moment are certainly not lullabies. Instead, he hums softly, like he did when Anakin was younger and woke up from nightmares in tears.

Said Padawan is quieter than Obi-Wan has ever known him to be. At fifteen, Anakin is all raging hormones, unending energy and a seemingly bottomless stomach. He has never been good at meditating, unless he’s tinkering with mechanics, but Obi-Wan recognizes the calm, distant hum through their bond. He doubts his Padawan has even realized how seamlessly he’s sunk into meditation, his presence twined around CT-3385. The peace coming from them is refreshing, and what remained of Obi-Wan’s doubts melts away.

He blinks, exhaustion creeping up on him as yet another vision settles over his mind. He has always had a tendency to premonition, but this is getting ridiculous. The compulsion his strong, and he wonders how out of it he’ll feel once he’ll be away from the kids for a while. Right now, it feels like they’re all part of him. He knows it’s the new bonds the Force has forged between them, but that doesn’t change what he feels.

His eyes open on a star-filled night sky, his ears all but ringing. He doesn’t know from what, but plumes of smoke rise in the sky. Then, a teen appears over him, lekku dangling close to his face, montrals striped red and white. Warm hands cup his face, and there is naked terror on the face of his child.

“ _Buir?_ C’mon, _buir_ , this is no place to take a nap!”

He breathes in, dust filling his nose, and coughs it out. The lean Togruta at his side helps him sit up, and he can feel him send healing into him through the Force. He doesn’t know for what – everything hurts.

“Naak”, he breathes, and his child’s eyes fill with tears. “Go.”  
“I’m not leaving you behind!” Naak screams, terror and wrath filling the Force. “ _Buir_ , you know the rules-”

A tall shadow looms over him, and he feels relief. He knows that armour, though it’s not glittering but covered in grit and grime.

“Take him”, he gasps out. “I’ll make the evac with the rest, just- Take him.”  
“NO”, Naak yells as armoured arms wrap around him, pulling him up and away, “no, _buir_ ”, he kicks out at the man in _beskar’gam_ who has grabbed him tight, “Let me go, you _hut’uun!”_  
“ _Pare_ ”, the warrior says to Obi-Wan before flying away with his jetpack, holding Naak as tight as he can – and Naak is strong, but he’s just a child still.

There’s the sound of someone running and skidding to his side, falling to their knees beside him, and-

He’s back in the healer’s ward, blinking tiredly at Naak. Oh, Force. What kind of _osik_ does the future have in store for them? He looks up and meets Anakin’s horror-filled eyes. His Padawan is clutching the baby to his chest, and he’s breathing in shallow gasps. Gently, Obi-Wan puts Naak in his crib, takes CT-3385 from Anakin to lay him in his own cradle, and pulls Anakin in his arms.

“Breathe”, he whispers in his ear. “Like me. Inspire… Hold your breath… Now let go. Good. You’re doing well. That’s it.”

Slowly, he feels Anakin calm down. The teen rarely goes so deep in the Force as he was just then with the baby, and he hasn’t had a panic attack like this in years. Tears well up before Anakin can stop them, and he’s sobbing brokenly in Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

“Shh, it’s alright. I’m here. Everything is alright.”

It’s not exactly true – not when he has five Force-sensitive babies and a teen Padawan counting on him. But they are not in danger, and not in pain. Anakin’s hand is clenching over his arm, so tight it’s verging on truly painful.

“There was so much pain”, Anakin finally whispers once he’s managed to stop his sobs. “Wherever it is they come from, it’s a horrible place. I didn’t get anything precise but- Haat was in so much pain. And he’s still so small, no child this age should be in pain.” He blinks. “But there was- I don’t know, his thoughts were too confused. Someone warm, with a nice voice. I don’t know who they were, but they were projecting love to Haat. I think they’re the one who saved them and sent them here. They spoke in a tongue I don’t understand, but there was a sentence they kept repeating. ‘ _Val ven haa’tayli haat_ ’, and… he liked how ‘Haat’ sounded. Like it was him.”

Obi-Wan pauses, slightly startled. Anakin’s repetition is perfect, as usual, and betrays a deep accent - from Concord Dawn, no hesitation.

“ ‘They will see the truth.’ That’s what it means.” He looks at Anakin. “It’s Mando’a, which shouldn’t be surprising. You say the little one basically chose ‘Haat’ as his name?”

Anakin nods and wipes his eyes, pulling away and not daring to meet his gaze. Obi-Wan can’t say he’s surprised there’s pain in his children’s past. He already knew they were sent to him to escape death, and no _Mando’ad_ would take lightly to send their child away. It is doubly disturbing that they’ve chosen the Jedi to safe-guard their legacy, and that makes Obi-Wan all the more convinced that he has to honour the request, Code be damned.

He takes a breath, and looks at the children.

“ _Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ade_ , Skira, Tracyn, Runi, Naak, Haat.”

Anakin shivers, and looks at him. And in one, bright second, Obi-Wan knows what he was supposed to do. Gently, he cups Anakin’s cheek.

“ _Ni kyr’tayl gai sa’vod_ , Anakin. Things are going to be very different, now.”  
“I know”, Anakin whispers. He bites his lips. “Will we have to leave the Order?”  
“I sincerely hope not, Padawan.”

His comm blips, and he sighs. He’s exhausted, and dawn was barely an hour earlier. It’s still way too early.

“The Council wants to see us”, he says.

He hopes it won’t be the last time he stands before them. He’d loathe to leave his home behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Buir_ : parent (father/mother, non-gendered).  
>  _Runi_ : soul (poetic form).  
>  _Resol'nare_ : the Six Actions, the Mando'a way of life.  
>  _Ba'jur bal beskar'gam, Ara'nov, aliit, Mando'a bal Mand'alor — An vencuyan mhi_ : (this is the Resol'nare) Education and armor, self-defense, our tribe, our language, our leader—all help us survive.  
>  _Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad_ : I know your name as my child (adoption vow).  
>  _Tracyn_ : Fire.  
>  _Skira_ : Personal vengeance.  
>  _K'oyacyi_ : stay alive (as an order).  
>  _Slana, buir_ : Go, Father.  
>  _Nuhoyi_ : Sleep.  
>  _Naak_ : Peace.  
>  _hut’uun_ : coward (one of the worst insults to a Mando'ad).  
>  _Pare_ : hang on.  
>  _osik_ : shit.  
>  _Haat_ : Truth.  
>  _Ni kyr’tayl gai sa’vod_ : I know your name as my brother.


	3. The Council

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan is nothing if not stubborn. One would even dare to compare him to an Akk dog: once he's sunk his teeth into something, he won't let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to cut my chapter in two so it's smaller but it felt like there was too much crammed in there. It'll give me time to re-work the following one.
> 
> EDIT: I will put a key in each starting A/N for the baby clones, because until they develop their personnalities further it'll likely be complicated to remember which is which. (I would know, I use one.)
> 
> CT-3381 / Skira, blind.  
> CT-3382 / Tracyn, deaf, blond, golden eyes.  
> CT-3383/ Runi, Nautolan.  
> CT-3384/ Naak, Togruta.  
> CT-3385/Haat, autistic.

“Mandalorian warriors, we do not raise”, Yoda snaps, rapping his gimmer stick on the ground.

Obi-Wan stands his ground.

“Whoever sent them hasn’t asked to make them Death Watch extremists”, he replies. “The _Resol’nare_ isn’t in contradiction with our Code. Wearing the armour, speaking Mando’a, defending yourself and your family, raising your children as Mandalorians, contributing to the clan’s welfare and answering to the Mand’alor’s call. We already do most of this, in a way. Trade tunics for armour, Mando’a for the Force, raising children as Jedi and contributing to the Order’s welfare instead of a clan, and we follow the very same tenets.”

For a second, he fears Master Poof will explode from sheer indignation. But Obi-Wan has taken the twenty minutes they were made to wait to meditate with Anakin, and his path is clear. He’s taking the clone babies as his own, and he is raising them as Mandalorians.

“This is blasphemy”, Oppo Rancisis bleats, and Obi-Wan feels Anakin’s amusement through their bond.  
“Masters, I am not acting just to aggravate you. This is the will of the Force, and our duty as Jedi is to follow it. There hasn’t been Mandalorian Jedi in centuries. This is a unique opportunity, one we would be foolish not to take! Please. It is a responsibility I am willing to take. Make me a crèche master if that’s what it takes.”  
“And if we were to do that”, Master Koon replies, “what would become of your Padawan? Crèche-masters don’t usually take apprentices.”  
“Well maybe they _should_ ”, Anakin replies, his jaw set out stubbornly. “Master”, he adds belatedly.

Foolish boy with a heart of gold. Obi-Wan has never been fonder of him.

“Anakin would see less field-action, that is true. However, the skills he would learn by caring for defenceless, younger children are just as priceless as the ones in diplomacy. Being a Knight is about following the will of the Force, and helping others. And to me, that starts with helping our own. Or is our compassion only for the non-Jedi?”

Mace looks like he’s seconds from booting him out of the room. It’s a good sign, it means he’s making sense. Obi-Wan draws up, standing straighter.

“Masters. There is much we do not know about these children, but some things are very clear: they were sent to us to escape danger. The Republic doesn’t allow for full-sentient cloning, which makes their very existence disturbing. A _Mandalorian_ asked _us_ for help, and I have good reasons to believe that said Mandalorian is the children’s template, Jango Fett. Jango Fett, who very notoriously, and with reason, hates our guts and would see us all dead if he could. Tell me, Masters, when do you entrust your children to people you hate and despise?”  
“When you are desperate”, Adi Gallia replies in a soft voice. “I see now why you were chosen to advocate for these children.”

Yoda raps his gimmer stick.

“A breach in our firewalls, there was. Unknown to us the fault would have been, if not for the incursion. To all our data, someone had access. To our members’ personal files, they looked.”

Obi-Wan pauses to think. Yoda wouldn’t have spoken of it if it wasn’t important, and related to their problem. The timing is already suspiciously off.

“It was Fett”, Anakin replies, his eyebrows drawn together in thought. “He wasn’t likely to know any member of the Order he could trust. Most people don’t know Jedi personally. I would have done the same thing: research and find someone you can trust.”  
“What kind of information could he have seen?” Obi-Wan asks.

Master Windu draws up his file. An awful lot, Obi-Wan realizes with a sinking stomach. There is everything there. Fett blazed past their encryptions and protected files like they were nothing. The breach he found in their security wasn’t easy to find, but it was thorough. Obi-Wan knows it has already been remedied to. There is everything here. Where and when he was born, with even his size and weight at birth. All the shots he got, all his medical appointments and interventions. The date he was accepted into the Temple, and when he became an Initiate. The name of his clan, and his departure for Bandomeer. His probation after Melida/Daan. Master Jinn’s name. When he became a Knight, and when he took Anakin as his Padawan – the very same day. His missions, from the moment he became a Padawan, to the one he came back from the day before. The fact that he killed Darth Maul.

He shakes his head, and opens his mouth. Closes it, thinks.

“Why would anyone give up such an advantage? Unrestricted access to _all_ our data? They could have seriously hurt us with that and we wouldn’t have known until it was too late. Instead, Fett scoured through our information and decided I was the one he wanted to care for his clones? I’ve read reports on Galidraan, Masters. The man is far from stupid.”  
“Very troubling, this is”, Master Yoda concurs. “Believe it was Fett, I do too. Very thorough, he was.”

Master Windu stares at him, silent. Obi-Wan has a flash of precognition.

“Don’t write that they are clones in their files”, he says. “Hide their origins. Make it appear like they were found on Search. A lucky mission on the Outer Rim, like when Anakin was found.”  
“That would seem wiser, yes”, Eeth Koth replies, his eyes lost in thought. “At least until we know more about them. If only because they’re very existence is illegal in Republic space.”  
“Numbers instead of names, I heard they have”, Yaddle said. “Names, they will need.”  
“They have names”, Obi-Wan replies just as Anakin does, the two of them speaking at the same time.  
“Name them, you did?” Yoda asks, his ears going backwards.  
“We both had visions”, Obi-Wan replies. “They have names. Mandalorian names.”

Master Yaddle narrows her eyes.

“Good, that is. Your family name, they should take. Your children, they are.”

Obi-Wan opens his mouth to protest, but shuts it quickly. The tiny green master is right, and this is not something worth hiding – after all, if he’s to be raising them, people will soon make the connection.

“Is it really wise?” he still asks, uncertain.

Master Yoda’s ears twitch.

“Not your birth name, Kenobi is. Know this, you do. Name you so, the Jedi did. Name others so, we can.”

Obi-Wan looks back at them, puzzled. He knows he was a new-born when he was brought to the Temple by a Jedi Master, and he has never really wondered from where he came. He knows that only pain lies this way. He never wondered whether that name was his from his birth, or given to him later.

“I had no idea”, he finally replies. “But if things are so, they by all means, give them my name.”

 _They’re gonna regret this_ , Anakin says through their bond with a hint of mirth.  
_Hush, Padawan. I can raise good children._  
_Why do you think I said that? I’m living proof they’re gonna regret it._

Obi-Wan sends him a mournful gaze, before focusing again on the Council. Mace is massaging his temples.

“We’ll take a vote now and let you know”, the Head of the Order says.

Considering their faces, Obi-Wan has little doubts they will vote aye. His _adike_ already have bonds too strong to be separated, and the Force is being very insistent. More so than usual. With a start, Obi-Wan wonders if, maybe, it was what his Master felt when he met Anakin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _adike_ : little ones.


	4. Vod'ike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Obi-Wan and Anakin start a completely new life... and honestly, they're kinda flying by the seat of their pants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CT-3381 / Skira, blind.  
> CT-3382 / Tracyn, deaf, blond, golden eyes.  
> CT-3383/ Runi, Nautolan.  
> CT-3384/ Naak, Togruta.  
> CT-3385/Haat, autistic.

In the end, the vote doesn’t take long at all, and Obi-Wan is granted the post of crèche Master to the _Vod’ike_ clan, a post that comes with new quarters in the crèche itself. He goes there immediately, Anakin on his heels, to see how they will be settled. There are three bedrooms: one for him, the other for Anakin, and the last, still needing to be outfitted as a nursery, for the kids. It’ll be enough until the _ad’ike_ become old enough to be Padawans. He has some time to see to it. There’s a ‘fresher, of course, a kitchen, and a big room that, in any other place, would be some kind of living-room. He’s already quite sure there will be baby stuff all around quite soon, and possibly pieces of machinery from whatever project Anakin is working on at the moment.

With some help from Master Shaak Ti, who apparently wants more gossip about the mess she witnessed in the landing bay, Anakin and him don’t take long to move their things from their shared quarters on the other side of the Temple. It’s not like they have much to begin with, but Obi-Wan’s plants make a good third of the trips. The Jedi are already gossiping, and their move really sets the rumours mill to work, as there should be no reason for a Master-Padawan pair to move by the crèche.

By mid-afternoon, everything is ready for the kids, and Obi-Wan is impatient to have them there. Judging by Anakin’s giddy smile, he’s not much better. The brothers are sleeping when they go to pick them up from the Healing ward. It’ll be tough caring for and raising five children, but Obi-Wan knows he isn’t alone. He’s a Jedi, after all, and if there’s one thing they love, it’s their young.

He wasn’t expecting the droid that’s tagging along, but apparently, whoever sent it with the kids seriously scrambled its protocols. ND-99 is adamant: it’s coming with the kids, whose health and well-being are its first priority despite its scrambled programming.

“It could be a big help”, Anakin points out. “Especially at the start. There’s only two of us, after all, and five of them. _Force-sensitive_.”  
“I hear you”, Obi-Wan replies, stroking his beard. “But I’m concerned about its protocols and programming. You’ve seen it bug just like I did.”  
“I’ll look into it”, Anakin replies, shrugging. “It’s not like it’s hard.”

Which is how Obi-Wan finds himself sitting on the couch they brought from their quarters with Tracyn in his arms, the little boy’s eyes wide open as Anakin tinkers with the droid in the middle of the room. He restructures its programming, mumbling under his breath about “kill orders _poodoo_ ” as he does so. Obi-Wan doesn’t find it reassuring. The day is a long one and, once the little ones have been fed _again_ – babies really eat a lot -, bathed, changed and put to sleep, Obi-Wan collapses on his own bed with quiet relief. Anakin is still tinkering away, but that’s nothing new, especially as it is still quite early.

He really isn’t used to being woken up in the middle of the night by loud, sudden _wailing_ , but within seconds he’s out of his bed and rocking a distraught Naak while projecting calm through the Force. He’s not fast enough, however, and one by one, all five of the brothers wake up and cry in unison.

He only has two arms, and never before had he seen that as a tragedy.

Anakin joins him, thankfully, and between the two of them and a healthy dose of Force-suggestion – and babies really have _no business_ being so stubborn, kriff, Obi-Wan really doesn’t want to meet this Fett fellow now – they manage to get them back to sleep. He has a new found respect for the crèche Masters, even though there aren’t that many younglings as young as his. He’s looking forward to having the droid back in shape to help. He falls back asleep straight away after sending Anakin back to bed – though he isn’t sure the teen made it that far, he could as easily just have collapsed in the middle of his room.  
Anakin is already tinkering when he starts to make breakfast after his morning meditation. ND-99 looks like it can function again, and from what he can see, there are other projects there. There are always other projects, Anakin’s brain is crammed full of them.

“What are you working on?” he asks as he hands a steaming mug of tea to Anakin and sits down cross-legged by his side.

The kids are still sleeping, he’ll take whatever moments of calm he can get. He’s already learnt that lesson, thankfully. He also doesn’t want to neglect his Padawan, who’s already felt rejected enough since he was brought to the Temple. He’ll have to tread carefully with this.

“A reduced star maps model, to project in the _Vod’ike_ ’s room. It should help keep them calm. At least, it does with the older younglings.”

He can’t really say Anakin is wrong – himself found comfort in the Archives stars map for a long time. He still does, but sitting on the floor in the middle of the Temple’s library wouldn’t exactly be dignified. Maybe he’ll be able to get away with it now that he has babies to take with him.

“And this?” he asks, pointing to what looks like a giant ball of glass and metal. 

He’s pretty sure it’s not a droid, but one never knows, with Anakin. It could just as easily be a bomb – though if indeed it is a bomb, he’ll have to ask him to tinker with it in the labs, and not in their quarters. He’s not getting himself blown up, and even less his sons.

“Having five cradles isn’t going to cut it when we’re going to need to move around”, his Padawan replies, fingers flying over the thing and it opens with a quiet shh. “This should fit all five of them, at least until they’re old enough to start to walk.”

Obi-Wan grins, and gently tugs at Anakin’s padawan braid. Yes, it will make things easier.

“Good thinking, Padawan mine. Thank you.”  
“They’re my brothers”, he answers, and though there is a hint of possessiveness in his voice, there is mostly a fierce desire to protect.

He should have known: Anakin is a Jedi through and through, with a heart big enough to bleed for everyone. He’s always done his best to help those in need, and his family, new-found as it may be, clearly qualifies. He’s barely finished with his tea when he feels a stirring in the Force, and he doesn’t wait for Skira to start to cry before he goes to pick him up.

He has set up a mat on the floor and settled four of his five babies on it while he feeds Skira from a baby-bottle of milk – courtesy of the finally functional ND-99 – when someone rings at the door. Anakin is too far down in meditation as he works on the star map to react at the sound.

“Come in”, he calls.  
“So it’s true”, a voice he’d know anywhere says as the newcomer enters the room. “You’ve really gone and adopted five babies.”  
“Garen! I didn’t know you were in Temple”, he greets with a warm smile. “Come here. As you can see, I’ve got my hands full.”  
“You’re karking mad is what you are”, the Knight snorts, crossing over and sitting beside him before looking curiously at Skira. “They’re cute, as far as babies go.”  
“What are you yammering about, they’re _adorable_ ”, Obi-Wan protests. “Take Tracyn and feed him before he starts screaming”, he adds, nodding to the blanket.  
“Which one is Tracyn?” Garen asks, leaning forward and looking at the babies. “Ah, it’s the blond one”, he adds when he feels the stirring in the Force as Tracyn gets ready to scream.

ND-99 has a bottle of milk ready already – well, it has prepared five in prevision, and three remain – and, with Tracyn awkwardly settled in the crook of his arm, Garen feeds him. There is a calm, a quietness in Obi-Wan’s new dwelling, that Garen usually only finds in the gardens. It takes him a moment to realize the calm comes from the babies, slumbering happily, well-fed and loved.

Anakin stirs from where he was working with the star map, looking pensive, and grins at Garen when he sees him. These two get along like house on fire, and Obi-Wan often wondered why he deserved such a curse.

“Hello, Garen! I see they’ve already conquered you.”  
“I’m not conquered”, Garen retorts, miffed, even as he looks back at Tracyn with adoration.

Obi-Wan is reminded of cats, who manage to make themselves be loved even where they weren’t wanted before. He doesn’t like that it seems to be a defence system his kids have, but it _is_ useful. He has little doubt they’ll have conquered the whole Temple before long.

“Master”, Anakin calls, and there is still this thoughtful and slightly worried frown on his face. “What does ‘N’adenn’ mean?”  
“It’s ‘mercy’”, Obi-Wan replies automatically. “Where did you see that? It’s Mando’a.”  
“It was a scrambled protocol of En-Dee”, Anakin says. “One I deleted entirely. It was… basically, if the ship my brothers came in hadn’t arrived here… there was a protocol for it to kill them. I thought it was weird, but nothing in the Force warned me about it… But if the name of the protocol was ‘Mercy’…”  
“Mercy killing”, Obi-Wan whispers, his heart filling with dread, even though the kids arrived safely. “The ship was on automatic piloting, we have no idea from where. It could have been lost in space, and the _Vod’ike_ would have risked a slow death, either of dehydration, starvation or asphyxiation. This protocol was ensuring they wouldn’t suffer like this.”

Garen’s face is grim as he gently pats Tracyn’s back. He still has memories of finishing off a Loth-cat that had fallen off a cliff and would have agonized for days – and couldn’t be saved. He knew he was doing the right thing, but it certainly hadn’t been pleasant – and that was just for an animal. He can’t even imagine having to do that for literal babies, and Obi-Wan is nearly sick at the thought.

Anakin, on the other hand, doesn’t seem nearly as disturbed by the concept. He has simply nodded at the explanation and accepted it like it is a fact of life, like he’s known this for years. And it’s strange, when he’s so compassionate and often forgets to listen to reason and logic.

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan calls softly. “Are you alright?”  
“Mmh? Yeah of c-”, he starts, lifting his head to meet his eyes. “You don’t look good, master.”  
“Mercy killing does that to me”, Obi-Wan admits.

Anakin shrugs uneasily.

“Mom explained that to me when I was still very small”, he says. “It’s one of the realities of a slave. Sometimes, death is a mercy, and it is kindness to grant it. I know Mom had to do it several times, but she made sure I didn’t see it.” His face is cast in shadows. “More often than not, it was slaves who tried to run, their implant blew up, and they didn’t die on the spot but couldn’t be saved.”

Obi-Wan’s breath leaves his lungs. Again. Anakin never speaks of his past willingly, but sometimes he’ll say things like that and Obi-Wan is reminded of the utterly ruthless world Anakin has known most of his life. It was merely five years ago that he was Freed, after all. He’s spent more time as a slave than as a Jedi. Beside him, Garen is completely still, his eyes wide. Garen is one of the few in the presence of which Anakin doesn’t mind mentioning his years as a slave, and Obi-Wan is eternally grateful for that. Tracyn is looking at him with obvious fascination, and his hand easily spans the baby’s body.

“Don’t look at me like that”, Anakin says, shuttering off. “My Mom would never kill anyone if it wasn’t for self-defence or out of mercy.”  
“I never thought she would”, Obi-Wan replies, and it’s true. From the way Padmé and Qui-Gon spoke of Anakin’s mother, and from Anakin’s rare tells, he can tell Shmi Skywalker isn’t the kind for cruelty. “I’m merely sad that you didn’t learn this lesson much later.”

There is understanding in Anakin’s eyes, and he nods back swiftly. He never liked to be pitied, but he has learnt to accept his Master’s concern and compassion. Garen clears his throat, clearly intent on changing the subject.

“So, it’s true that you intend to raise them as Mandalorians? I knew you were fond of Satine, but that’s going a bit far isn’t it?”

Obi-Wan smiles softly, and shakes his head.

“Duchess Kryze”, he replies, and emphasizes the title – it helped, the first few months after. It created distance. It still helps, sometimes – “would have a fit and very probably castrate me if she knew I intend to raise the very same Mando’ade she castigates.”

At Garen’s look, he rolls his eyes.

“The _Resol’nare_ isn’t about conquering the galaxy, and between us, I never agreed with her decision to abolish this code. We have lightsabres to use in self-defence and the defence of others, it would be quite hypocritical to deny the same right to others simply because they use armour to defend their own.”  
“…It was a joke, Obi-Wan”, Garen says in a squeak. “I thought it was a ridiculous rumour. Are you pulling my leg?”  
“I’ve never been so damn serious”, Obi-Wan replies. “I’ll have to scour down the Archives for everything on Mandalorian culture and tradition. I’m a bit out of practice as it is.”  
“Did the Council have a fit when you said that?” Garen says, his grin widening slowly.  
“I wouldn’t be surprised to meet retribution”, Obi-Wan answers. “But it was the will of the Force.”  
“Alright then”, Garen says, putting Tracyn down on the blanket and picking Naak up, the baby looking at him with something akin to horror, and Anakin sits up too, “tell us about Mandalore and its traditions. I’m curious.”

And Obi-Wan tells, switching babies whenever one is in need of attention, settling in his new role with far more ease than he did as a young Knight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Vod'ike_ : little brothers (here, it is used as the clan name for the baby clones).  
>  _N'adenn_ : mercy (I made that one up with the negative n' and _adenn_ , merciless).


	5. World Crashing Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's something wrong with the babies. Force, but it hurts. There's something wrong with the babies, and Obi-Wan is desperately powerless against it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this chapter hurts, and the next one too BUT the one I'm currently working on doesn't.  
> Also, you may have noticed a change in the tags: this story is now rated M, with Archive Warnings for Graphic Violence. One going hand in hand with the other.
> 
> Also, you will notice kinda large time-skips: the babies are still very small and there isn't much happening aside from them growing up. What is the life of a baby besides sleeping and eating, uh.
> 
> EDIT:  
> CT-3381 / Skira, blind.  
> CT-3382 / Tracyn, deaf, blond, golden eyes.  
> CT-3383/ Runi, Nautolan.  
> CT-3384/ Naak, Togruta.  
> CT-3385/Haat, autistic.

It takes two weeks before the Temple settles after the _Vod’ike_ ’s arrival. Two weeks of curious stares and whispers, mostly spent in the crèche since the babies are yet too small to be exposed to so many beings at once. Obi-Wan is nothing if not careful, and they each receive the needed vaccines with each new milestone. It’s another week before he finally makes his way back to the training rooms, Anakin and the cradle in tow. Garen had accepted to train Anakin the past three weeks, and it has been obvious that the Knight is nearly ready to take a Padawan of his own.

Their arrival, of course, stirs attention from all present. The cradle especially attracts attention, and before long, there are three Padawans, two Knights and three Masters around it, cooing at the babies. Inside, of course, Naak is being his usual charming self. He discovered smiling a few days ago, and isn’t shy with his grins. Skira is an adept of glowering at everyone, which is frankly hilarious on one so young, and Tracyn has taken to squeals of delight.

Obi-Wan doesn’t remember babies evolving that quickly, but he could easily be wrong. After all, all parents say that time flies. Garen seems to think this is an opportunity to flirt and picks Tracyn up, settling him so that he’ll be able to see Anakin and Obi-Wan spar. There’s a flood of delight coming from the little boy – from being picked up, from the new surroundings, and from seeing Obi-Wan. They might not talk yet, but the five of them project loud enough that Obi-Wan has no doubt they see him as their father. Anakin is always received with just as much delight and simple love.

Rolling his eyes, Obi-Wan ignites his lightsabre, Anakin quickly doing the same, as they go through warm-ups. They spar just like they usually do, but when they disengage their blades and Obi-Wan turns, he finds Tracyn holding his head upright and looking at them with wide eyes full of wonder.

 _Told you he’d be a handful_ , Anakin sends and grins.

Obi-Wan _really_ isn’t sure that he wants to know what his Padawan saw in Tracyn’s future. Given his name, Obi-Wan would be tempted to say “fire”. He’s quite sure keeping Tracyn away from the lightsabres until he’s old enough to learn to use one will be a feat in itself. He can only hope the four others will be a bit calmer. He hooks his lightsabre back on his belt and, pushing through the assembled spectators, gets to his kids. Naak’s face splits into a wide grin, showing still toothless gums, upon seeing him, and then the little boy bursts into laughter.

The sound echoes in the room, bright and full of absolute joy, and Obi-Wan can’t stop himself from grinning back and picking him up.

“Was that his first laugh?” Anakin exclaims, running up to him. “Did you just laugh?” he asks Naak, who only laughs more, held upright to look back at Obi-Wan.  
“Laugh, little Naak did”, a voice answers, and Master Yoda is standing there, leaning on his gimmer stick, ears up in delight as he looks at them.

Obi-Wan always knew that Yoda would be the first Councillor to be won over by his sons. The old master always had an affinity for younglings, after all, and though he kept his visits short the past three weeks, he already knows their names. Haat especially seems to like the Grand-master of the Order, and today is no different. Anakin lowers the crib for Yoda and Haat, who has been getting agitated, almost immediately calms down, his dark brown eyes staring straight back at Yoda.

“Brightness, they bring to the Force, yes”, Yoda nods. “Right you were, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan smiles in answer: he never had a doubt.

Obi-Wan has had his children for two months when he realizes something is wrong. It hits him all at once, when he watches Anakin hold Skira by his chest and his son stands upright on his own two legs. He has borrowed books about babies in the Archives, on the recommendation of crèche masters, and this… Skira shouldn’t be able to do this, not yet. And Tracyn, laid on the mat next to him, shouldn’t be able to raise his head and weigh on his forearms while he’s on his stomach. Naak shouldn’t be laughing like that when Garen tickles him, and Runi shouldn’t yet be staring right back into Master Fisto’s eyes when the Nautolan feeds him. Force, Haat shouldn’t yet be able to keep his head stable when he’s sitting against Master Yoda.

They’re growing up too fast.

He knows babies grow fast and the clothes he has for them aren’t meant to last long, but they’re clearly developing ahead of schedule. It hits him like a ton of bricks, and it’s all he can do to slap his hand over his mouth to refrain from screaming.  
Anakin, of course, senses the surge of agony and looks up at him, worried and puzzled.

“Master? Is there something wrong?”  
“Can you keep an eye on them? I shouldn’t be gone long”, he says, picking Tracyn up and settling him against his shoulder.

He has to refrain from squeezing him against his chest, has to focus on not letting his sobs of heartbreak and terror break free, or the tears from spilling. Is it something permanent? Will this stop, eventually, or might the rate increase? Will his sons grow old and wither while he’s still in the prime of his youth?

It’s not fair, it’s not fair, and it’s all he can do to shield against the pain as he strides through the Temple, to the Halls of Healing. Bant was the first to see the kids when they arrived, but it’s Master Naavri who became their primary Healer. The Togruta matron has experience with the care of little ones, but she hasn’t seen his sons since they got their last shots three weeks before. She probably hasn’t noticed their fast development.

She’s finishing checking up with a crèche kid who has to be around three when he storms in, Tracyn clutched to his chest. Her eyes go up and meet his, and a moment later they are behind a partition screen and Obi-Wan finally realizes he’s trembling. She makes him sit down before he has the chance to fall, and sits down beside him.

“Is Tracyn hurt, Obi-Wan?” she asks gently, trying to wade through his panic and reaching out to take the baby.  
“No”, he chokes out. “Master, they… I… They’re growing up too fast. I didn’t notice before, but they do things they shouldn’t be able to do yet.”

That makes her frown, and he hands Tracyn out to her – even though it’s difficult, with the panic gripping his heart. She performs an examination, her frown deepening as she takes notes, before turning back to Obi-Wan, Tracyn safely laid in a bassinet.

“You were right”, she says finally. “They were new-born when they arrived, but Tracyn is physically around four months now, and his behaviour matches this age. I’d need to perform more thorough examinations to tell you more, but it doesn’t seem to have an impact on his health.”  
“We need to know more”, Obi-Wan replies, picking Tracyn up and gently rocking him. “Force, who would do that to children?”

Panic is receding now that he has a clear course of action, but anger is replacing it and that isn’t good. He understands that this is why Jedi are warned off of attachments, but… they’re his kids. He knows reason, of course, but he would still fight like a damn krayt dragon for their safety and happiness.

“I don’t know, but I find it very disturbing”, Naavri replies. “Can you have the four others brought over?”

He nods and comms Anakin, who brings him his babies in their crib – except for Haat, who is curled up in his arms. While Naavri performs her examinations, he explains what he found out to his Padawan, who stills completely. Anger boils over their bond, bubbling sharp and acrid, bleeding over in the Force, and Obi-Wan has to sit him down and guide him through breathing exercises and into meditation – the glasses in the Halls have just started to tremble. The anger abates – not tamed, but controlled, and it’ll have to be enough. Obi-Wan has enough anger in his own heart that it’s hard to blame Anakin for his.

Naavri’s report is complete five days later, and Obi-Wan feels his heart sink. His boys are growing at twice the rate of a natural-born human child, and if there is a way to stop this, Naavri doesn’t know it. On the other hand, their immune systems are exceptionally performant, so they are not likely to catch anything, and if they do, they will heal much faster.

He falls asleep in the nursery that night, and when he wakes up, Anakin is curled up against him and there are five babies nestled between them, sleeping peacefully. Anakin isn’t sleeping, but sobbing quietly, his fingers curled into Obi-Wan’s night tunics. Obi-Wan doesn’t say a thing, but wraps his arms around him and hugs him tight, petting his short hair. He hesitates a moment, but eventually starts humming under his breath. He feels Anakin relax – both in his hold and in the Force – and goes on to singing under his breath, a lullaby he composed after a few hours researching Mandalorian chants. It’s more than just a lullaby, though, it’s a tribute to his sons. It is simple and repetitive, so they might learn the words, and Anakin may learn it and sing it with ease, but he’s poured all his hopes and feelings in those words, lacing them with the Force.

_Vod'ike,  
Ke'shushi ner miite  
Gar dral tome,  
Gar dral solus,  
Gar solus ti Kot._

_Vercopa gar kad haat  
Vercopa gar tracyn hetti dral  
Vercopa gar skira tor  
Vercopa gar runise solus  
Vercopa gar naak darasuum._

_Vod'ike,_  
Jetii Mando'ade  
Vercopa Kot ti gar. 

He isn’t used to singing. He isn’t a great singer, but he doesn’t need to be. He needs his voice to be soft and soothing to rock his kids to sleep. Anakin slides into sleep seamlessly, and Obi-Wan is left to consider the future. His children’s years might not be numerous, but he will make damn sure they are good and happy. And in the meantime, he won’t give up. They are his children, dammit, and he’ll fight for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little Mando'a note: since apparently "May the Force be with You" is translated by _Vercopa Kot ti gar_ , I've decided to go the easy way and use "Kot" as a translation for "the Force".
> 
> Translation for the song:
> 
> Little brothers,  
> Listen to my words  
> You are strong together,  
> You are strong alone,  
> You are one with the Force.
> 
> May your 'saber be true  
> May your fire burn bright  
> May your revenge be just  
> May your souls be one  
> May your peace be eternal.
> 
> Little brothers,  
> Jedi children of Mandalore  
> May the Force be with you
> 
> (And yes, I'm still wondering why I decided trying to compose a fucking Mandalorian lullaby was a good idea)


	6. Ni kar'tayli gar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan loves the peace of not having visions. He was fine without them. Really, he was fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CT-3381 / Skira, blind.  
> CT-3382 / Tracyn, deaf, blond, golden eyes.  
> CT-3383/ Runi, Nautolan.  
> CT-3384/ Naak, Togruta.  
> CT-3385/Haat, autistic.

By the time his _Vod’ike_ hit the four months mark, the whole Temple is under their charm. Obi-Wan is convinced Runi will be the first to walk – he isn’t there yet, of course, but he’s the first one to stand upright. Tracyn has discovered crawling around on his hands and knees, and is entirely too damn fast for a baby – and the crèche masters laugh when Obi-Wan says that, but babies have no business being this fast! Haat follows him around more often than not, but his moving method is slightly different and frankly hilarious: Anakin can’t help but laugh when he sees him dragging himself around on his nappy with the aid of one heel, his other leg curled under him. Runi is already swimming around, more often than not in Master Fisto’s care, and Obi-Wan hadn’t expected to see so damn much of the Nautolan master. He wouldn’t complain, though: Kit is a good friend, and Anakin has considerably warmed up to him.

It’s soothing, that so many Masters and Knights are willing to help. Those who know how humans grow up have noticed, of course, that his children are growing up rather more quickly than normal, but no one is insensible enough to say anything to him. It’s while Naak is doing his very best to stand up in the play-pen while his brothers either sleep or coo at the mobiles overhead that Obi-Wan decides it’s time.

“How would you like to speak Mando’a too, Anakin?” he asks his Padawan, who is wading through some of his lessons.  
“I’d love to learn”, Anakin replies immediately. “I’ve picked up a few words, but not nearly as much as I’d like and…” He looks away. “I’ve been brushing up on my Galactic Sign Language”, he adds. “I figured Tracyn would have to learn it.”  
“A very good initiative, Padawan”, Obi-Wan praises him, smiling.

Ever since the babies arrived in their lives, Anakin has gained focus and patience in a way Obi-Wan would never have expected. It’s obvious the kids are good for him, and he might just be ready for Knighthood earlier than planned. Obi-Wan is cautious, though. Anakin is still very young, and has much to learn despite his tremendous power. Meditating has been easier for his Padawan too, thanks to Haat. His connection to the Force is not as strong as Anakin’s, but it’s stronger than most Jedi’s – mostly though, it’s the fact that Haat seems to sink into the Force without even thinking about it that helped Anakin.

“I thought immersion would be the best way to get you to talk Mando’a”, Obi-Wan resumes, “so from now on and until you’re fluent, the both of us will converse in Mando’a. I will also teach you Mando’a hand-talk.”

There’s a flash of worry through their bond, but Anakin nods mulishly. He’s not one to let himself be defeated, and he knows Obi-Wan will help him.

“ _Vor’e, ba’juri’adat_ ”, Anakin replies, his accent absolutely atrocious.  
“ _Ba’juad_ ”, Obi-Wan corrects gently. “You got the right word, but Mando’a goes to the point and uses shortenings. If you are being formal, sure, go for the long word, but _ba’juad_ will be well enough for this.”  
“It’s not quite the same thing as ‘Master’, though, is it?” Anakin asks, and it’s in moments like this that he shows just how brilliant and intuitive he is.  
“No, it means ‘teacher’, but it’s the closest thing. The idea of teaching goes hand in hand with education and raising children for the _Mando’ade_ , so the one who teaches doesn’t just teach a lesson, but whatever is needed to survive. Rather like a Jedi Master.”  
“ _Jetii_ ”, Anakin supplies.  
“Exactly.”

The first few days are difficult, as Anakin has much to learn, but he quickly picks up on patterns, repeating words until he’s got the pronunciation right, even though he _somehow_ picks up an accent that is… definitely not Sundari. Obi-Wan is tempted to say that it sounds rather like the accent from Concord Dawn, but he isn’t sure. It takes close to a month before Anakin realizes they don’t have the same accent – but unlike Obi-Wan, he knows exactly where he picked it up.

“I’ve been having dreams”, Anakin explains as he changes Skira’s nappy.  
“Visions?”  
“I don’t know”, Anakin says with a shrug. “I hardly remember them, but I know there are people speaking _Mando’a_ in them. I think one was a vision of the distant past, because I remember seeing a Taung, but it’s usually very muddled up.”

Obi-Wan sincerely doubts they are merely dreams, but he refuses to worry his Padawan. His own premonitions have been far and few ever since the onslaught of them at his kids’ arrival, and he’s grateful for the peace. He’s more focused on the fact that within a month, his _Vod’ike_ have grown a lot. As he guessed, Runi was the first to walk, his tiny hands gripping Obi-Wan’s fingers tightly. Tracyn is next, a few days later, and Anakin bursts with pride as he guides his little brother on his first steps. One by one, over the span of two weeks, all his sons have taken their first hesitant steps. The days where they could peacefully put them down on a blanket and know they wouldn’t move are coming at an end.

Of course, it’s when Obi-Wan feels at peace with not having visions that he gets one. He’s sleeping, thankfully, so there’s no one to notice him going still and silent as the Force shows him… things.

“Naak? _"K’olar, ad’ika. Ner ad, gar drashaa! Gar cabur nari pirusti, adike." _ »  
« _Ner **cabur** ?"_ » Naak replies, sounding affronted. “ _NER CABUR? Di’kut, kaysh cuyi ner buir! **Obi-Wan ba’juri ni!** **”**_

There’s shock coming from whoever spoke with Naak, mixed with amusement and pride, and the vision shifts seamlessly. He’s laying in bed, though it’s not one he recognizes, dozing off, when the door bursts open and he very nearly shoots out of the bed. 

“Buir!” comes the indignant cry, and he recognizes Runi’s voice, “Rex put paint in my boots _again_ ”, and Obi-Wan sighs. 

The bed and warm morning light fall away to the gloom darkness of a world with no natural light, the Force Dark and oppressive, and Tracyn is standing there, half-covered in body-armour, and he’s just a boy, Force, he’s so young to be standing so straight, a lit lightsabre in his hand, and there are soldiers at his back, in matching white and blue armours. There is horror, grief and a determined grimness to his features, his blond hair swept in a longish Padawan cut, a braid already falling to his shoulder. A _buy’ce_ is latched onto his belt. There is movement and Tracyn stiffens, ready to attack. 

The darkness falls away to a dust-covered world, and he sees Runi running with a bunch of soldiers, the same ones he saw with Tracyn – except their armours are white and orange, and Runi is even younger. And suddenly, he sees Runi stop, still, and pull out a blaster, levelling it at the soldier running at the front, his face void of any expression. 

“Good Soldiers Follow Orders”, he says, finger on the trigger, and- 

The vision falls away and he sees Haat, his eyes closed, hands extended, obviously listening to the Force, beads of sweat running down his face as he shakes from exertion, and there’s someone screaming his boy’s name, trying to call for his attention. The vision fades, and he sees Skira, seating with his back to him. The Force is rolling around them, and Obi-Wan cautiously walks up to him. 

“Skira? _Ad’ika_ , talk to me.”  
_“WHY?!”_ comes the gut-wrenching scream, Skira’s fist pounding on the floor. “I HATE THEM, BUIR! I HATE THEM!” 

Obi-Wan comes around him, facing his child who is no longer a child, who hasn’t been for a long time now, and who is yet still so young, and feels all the breath leave his lungs. Skira’s unseeing eyes are staring straight ahead, as usual. Blazing gold. 

Obi-Wan wakes up covered in sweat, his heart beating madly, and stumbles out of bed and into the ‘fresher to dry-heave into the toilet. His skin his clammy and he hates it, his heart pounding from the visions he wishes stay only that – visions. He’s seen many things, many possibilities, but these frighten him. More so than the nightmares of his Master’s death, because they would mean, even more, that he failed in his duty to guide and protect his children. 

It takes him a long time to collect himself, drinking some water and washing his face as though it could do away with the terrifying visions. He detours by the nursery, even though his sons stopped waking him at night around a month ago, and basks in their quiet presences. The Force is calm around them, gentling their dreams and soothing him. Their cradles are larger now, and he brushes his hand against black, tight curls, lifts a blanket up under Naak’s chin, gently rubs Runi’s back, fingers running through blond silken threads of hair and finally, pushing Skira’s dark hair from his forehead. He vows not to fail – not with them, nor with Anakin. 

“ _Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum, ad’ika_. No matter what.” 

The morning finds him struggling through his usual meditation, and he snaps out of it when Anakin stumbles out of his room. There’s something bothering his Padawan, thrumming through their bond, and he opens his eyes. Anakin is standing there, his eyes smudged dark as though he barely slept at all. 

“Anakin?” he says softly. “ _K’olar, vod’ika_ ”, he says, patting the floor next to him. 

Anakin half-collapses next to him and leans his forehead against his shoulder, breathing deep. 

“Nightmares?”  
“Visions”, Anakin says, his voice thick. “These were visions. Many of them, many possibilities and nothing sure. I got a headache.”  
“You couldn’t sleep afterwards, uh?” Obi-Wan says, sending calm through their bond to soothe his fraying nerves.  
“No”, he replies. “I feel like _osik_.”  
“We’ll take a lighter schedule today, okay?" 

Anakin shakes his head, groaning softly at the pain in his head. 

“The Chancellor invited me for lunch”, he replies. “He’s been asking for a while, but I was busy with my brothers. I can’t lose his favour, though. I’ve gotta go.” 

Obi-Wan frowns. Chancellor Palpatine made good on his promise to keep an eye on Anakin and his career, and though Obi-Wan doesn’t exactly like having a politician so close to his Padawan, he has no reason to get in the way. An elderly mentor is a good thing for his young Padawan, when the Jedi Masters hardly listen to him and his concerns, and Qui-Gon was friends with Valorum. Friendship isn’t the same thing as having a mentor, sure, but… what can it hurt? 

“Forsaking me to the tender mercies of your brothers?” he jokes softly, and Anakin snorts.  
“Tender mercies, yes, that’s the word. Haat pulled by braid so hard the other day, I thought he was going to rip it off.”  
“That would have been a tragedy”, Obi-Wan smiles, and the stress of the night and his own visions recede with Anakin’s banter. “If you can, stop by the market before coming back, and buy some good meat. Master Naavri said it’s time we start Naak on a mixed diet.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Ni kar'tayli gar_ : I hold/keep you in my heart.  
>  _Vor’e, ba’juri’adat_ : Thanks, teacher.  
> NB: I made up ba'juri'adat, from _ba'juri_ , to educate/to raise, and _adate_ , people, persons (I removed the plural e to make it singular). So literally "person who educates".  
>  _ba'juad_ : shortened version of ba'juri'adat, teacher (in this fic, mostly used to mean Master).  
>  _Jetii_ : Jedi.  
>  _K’olar, ad’ika. Ner ad, gar drashaa! Gar cabur nari pirusti, adike._ :  
> 
> 
> *   
>  Come here, little one. My son, you’ve grown! Your guardian did well, child.   
> 
>   
> _Ner cabur? Di’kut, kaysh cuyi ner buir! Obi-Wan ba’juri ni!_ : 
> *   
>  My guardian ? MY GUARDIAN ? Idiot, he is my father! Obi-Wan raised me!   
> 
>   
> _buy'ce_ : helmet.  
>  _Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum, ad’ika_ : I love you, kid (lit: I hold you in my heart forever. The Mando'a way of saying I love you is AMAZING.)  
>  _K’olar, vod’ika_ : Come, little brother.  
>  _osik_ : shit. 


	7. Laare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Vod'ike conquer the Temple, one Jedi at a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Two updates this week bc Wednesday wasn't a good updating day for me, so I'm changing it to Friday and since I didn't want to leave you hanging until next Friday... Here we are!
> 
> *
> 
> CT-3381 / Skira, blind.  
> CT-3382 / Tracyn, deaf, blond, golden eyes.  
> CT-3383/ Runi, Nautolan.  
> CT-3384/ Naak, Togruta.  
> CT-3385/Haat, autistic.

Another month passes, quiet and joyful. No more visions trouble his nights nor his days, but Anakin cannot pretend to the same. His nights are hardly restful, and Obi-Wan has taken to Force-suggestion to get him to sleep. His sons have turned six months, and they look nothing like it. Looking at them, one might think they’re looking at a year old children, with the way they’ve started to toddle around. Haat has trouble finding his balance to trot after his brothers, but Runi often stays by him, encouraging him with childish babble and through their brotherly bond. Skira is doing way better than Obi-Wan ever thought he would, moving with ease as though he was seeing just like his brothers. He’s using the Force, of course, and probably his brothers, and were it not for the way he always stares straight ahead, focused on the Force around him, no one would know he is blind.

It's a bit different for Tracyn. He lives in a world of silence, as far as Obi-Wan can tell – Anakin assures him that he isn’t, because he _hears_ the Force, but Obi-Wan doesn’t quite understand how that would work. His bond with them is certainly different from the one Anakin shares with them: he’s their father, but Anakin is one of them. The bigger one, but a _vod_ all the same.

He pauses his reading of a mission report Anakin wrote – they weren’t gone long, barely a week, for a mission usually reserved to new Padawans, and between Garen, Master Yoda, Master Ti, Master Fisto and Master Koon, the kids had been well cared for, by guardians they knew well. They are settled in the Room of a Thousand Fountains and, while Anakin is working on his homework in his bedroom, he gets to rest a bit in his children’s company. Shaak Ti has offered a tool from her homeworld of Shili to Naak, meant to help soothing his aching teeth as they grow. Given their especially sharp teeth, Togrutas need specialized chewing toys unless they aim to shred said toys to bits, and Obi-Wan is grateful for the help.

Caring for five babies is work enough, but when two of them are only half-human, it’s even more complicated. Master Fisto is in one of the numerous pools with little Haat, making the boy swim and laughing at Haat’s fascination with his head-tails – that is, until Haat decidedly chomps on one of them. His jolt makes Runi laugh, the little boy by now old enough for a Nautolan to swim by himself, without any kind of help – though all the nearby Jedi are watching him like hawks, ready to intervene if something were to happen.

Naak is chasing after Shaak Ti a little farther away. Literally chasing, with a predator’s prowl and bared baby teeth, hiding himself into the vegetation and tracking his ‘prey’ through the Force. The Togruta Master lets out a fake death gargle when the little boy pounces on her and grabs him, tickling him until he’s shrieking in laughter. Obi-Wan is pretty sure that, had he not adopted the babies when they arrived, Shaak Ti would have done something. It’s obvious she’s shaping some sort of bond with the clones, even if its unconscious.

“Master Plo! Look, the _Vod’ike_ are there!”

Obi-Wan chuckles at the sight of the young Togruta dragging Plo Koon by his hand towards his kids. Skira shrieks when he recognizes the Master’s Force-presence and, together with Tracyn, they run up to him and latch onto the Kel Dor’s legs. Ahsoka Tano, the Initiate with him, laughs and crouches to play with them, tickling Skira while Tracyn lets go of Master Koon’s leg to climb onto her shoulders. Chuckling, the Council Master grabs Skira and hoists him up, swinging him playfully and making him laugh loudly.

Before long, their age-mates in the little clan of kids given to the Jedi very young – the ones old enough to walk and toddle around, since age seems to actually be irrelevant when it comes to the _Vod’ike_ – have joined in on the fun, dragging Padawans, Knights and Masters into their fun. Whereas before, older Jedi only interacted with the younglings when they went to the crèche, Obi-Wan and his children have definitely shattered these habits and pulled everyone into caring for the next generations.

Obi-Wan looks at his side, unsurprised to see Master Yoda standing right next to him. He is more surprised by Master Windu’s presence, the stern Master looking over the absolute mess of the usually peaceful room like he’s going to have a heart-attack. He doubts it is so – Mace may look calm and collected, but he has a wicked sense of humour. Master Yoda is unequivocally pleased, humming delightedly and radiating contentment in the Force.

“Bring much joy, your children have. A blessing from the Force, they are.”  
“I never doubted it, Master”, Obi-Wan replies with quiet certainty.

Even if he has to say goodbye to them much too soon, they will have brought him a joy and a happiness worth everything in the world, especially so as trouble brews in the wider galaxy. He knows that, were it not for his kids, he would be out there, trying to keep the Republic from tearing itself apart, trying to keep worlds from going to the Separatists. But he has very young sons and responsibilities to them, and so he remains in Temple with his Padawan who, for the first time in close to six years, is starting to really look at ease here. Like he finally found his place in the Force.

“I must admit, I had my doubts”, Master Windu says. “But the changes your children brought are for the best. Your Padawan especially has matured in a way I expected would take him years. His patience with your _Vod’ike_ is truly that of a Jedi.”

The compliment is unexpected. It is rare for Mace to give such commendations, and Obi-Wan takes it with the respect it deserves. He inclines his head in thanks, smiling at the Head of the Order.

“I’ve been thinking”, Mace adds, “with the changes I’ve noticed… If it’s alright with you, I’d like to train him into the Seventh Form.”

Obi-Wan almost startles. He would never have expected such an offer. The Jedi capable of learning and using vapaad are far and few. He himself isn’t sure he could pull it off, and as such, hasn’t even tried. There is also the matter of the relationship between Mace and Anakin, which is… not good. Anakin has warmed up to many Masters upon seeing the warm welcome they gave his brothers, but that doesn’t mean he forgot all the hurt that is to be foisted upon the Council – and especially, on Master Yoda and Master Windu’s shoulders. He knows they terrified him back then, when they tested him, and he’s resented them for that.

“I have no objection, but I don’t know what he will say”, he warns. “On one hand, he loves lightsabres forms and duelling, on the other… it’s no secret that he doesn’t like you.”

Mace nods, like he was expecting this.

“Yes, I am not surprized. I have given him no reason to love nor trust me. I’d like, at least, to become someone he can rely on. Seeing you with the children, and how the other Masters and Knights interact with them, as made me think about yours and Anakin’s circumstances. I fear we have been too harsh on your Padawan, and caused him trouble in his integration, which would have already been difficult given his origins and past.” He turns to look at Obi-Wan. “I’d like to change that. The Council and Masters shouldn’t be an obstacle or some kind of bogeyman to be avoided, and until now, it _is_ what we have been.”

Yoda nods, tapping his gimmer stick on the floor.

“Yes, yes. Concerned by Chancellor Palpatine’s interest in your Padawan, we are. Fear he might not be genuine, we do, but build a wall between a good mentor and a promising Jedi, we would not. Give him other options, other confidants, we must. Build trust, time it takes.”

Obi-Wan lets out a breath. It’s reassuring to know that his concerns are shared, and that the Masters are willing to provide a compromise as a solution, and work for it. He is about to thank them when there’s a warning in the Force and Mace falls in the pool, to the delight of the children. He comes out with a gasp, obviously surprised, and then meets Kit Fisto’s delighted expression and mischievous grin, and all becomes clear.

“Oh now you’ve started it, Kit!” the Haruun Kal growls, difficultly pulling off his drenched robes and setting them on the rim of the pool before he awkwardly tackles the Nautolan Master.

Haat is sitting on the edge, laughing and butt naked, his feet splashing in the water, and Runi is beside him. Obi-Wan smiles and picks up his two boys, wrapping them in his robes so they don’t get cold, both snuggling into him and yawning. It is time for their nap and, with Master Ti and Master Koon’s help, he corrals all five of his kids and brings them back to their quarters to set them down to nap. His heart swells looking at them, feeling their peace. This is what happiness feels like.

Anakin comes back to their quarters drenched in sweat after a gruelling training session with Master Windu, his everything hurting. Two months have passed since the Master proposed to train him in Vapaad and, after a moment of hesitation, he accepted. He is glad he did because… as much as Master Windu pushes him hard in training, he also takes time to talk to him. Anakin feels like, maybe, the Haruun Kal master isn’t as mean as he thought. His insights on anger, especially, have changed the way he looks at his own. He’s always been angry, at so many things, but now, it feels like he has a better idea of _why_ he is so angry – and, coincidentally, a better understanding of how he is on the best path to correct the wrongs he sees.

Two months are enough to bring changes in his brothers, too. They are eight months old and, were they regular babies, they would just be sitting up by themselves. As they are, though, they walk about without needing any help, and for a few days now, they have seemed to be trying to talk. Three weeks ago, Tracyn actually signed “food” in Mando’a hand-talk, and Haat has been signing non-stop for five days now, pointing at things and naming them both in Basic and Mando’a, sometimes mixing up the two. Anakin had hardly held back a laugh when his brother had accidentally signed a heartfelt “fuck you” at Master Windu when he’d probably meant to greet him.

So Anakin opens the door, aiming to go take a quick shower before lunch, for which Garen and Bant are coming: Obi-Wan has decided to try his hand at Mandalorian cooking, now that the little ones are old enough for the spicy food, and that he actually got his hand on some spices. He expected Obi-Wan to be cooking, which he is – with the help of a once more re-purposed ND-99 : he’s in the open kitchen, cutting up vegetables and referring himself to a pad set on the counter where the recipe is. The _Vod’ike_ are all sitting in their high-chairs, lined up on the other side of the counter so they can see what he is doing, and clearly fascinated – even Skira, his attention palpable in the Force. They are also giggling, and it’s not hard to know why: as he cooks, Obi-Wan is shimmying in the kitchen, grinning as he sings a song in Mando’a, his foot tapping a simple, clear rhythm that Runi, Naak and Skira have picked up on and follow, banging their little fists on the tablets of their chairs. Haat isn’t making any noise, but flapping his hands excitedly and bouncing in his chair.

“… _Manda’yaim a’den mhi, Vode an! Bal kote, darasuum kote…_ »  
« _Kote_ ! » squeaks Runi with surprising accuracy.  
“Ani!” screams Skira at just the same time, dragging his brothers’ and Obi-Wan’s attention on their older brother who is just standing there, red and dishevelled, his eyes round as saucers.  
“Oh Force”, he finally lets out, “did you just say my name? You just said my name, didn’t you, Skira?” he asks as he picks his brother from his high-chair, grinning widely as the little boy slaps both his hands on his cheeks in a rough greeting.  
“And I’m pretty sure Run’ika’s first word was _kote_ ”, laughs Obi-Wan. “Well, that’s auspicious!” He then scrunches up his nose. “You, however, stink”, he adds, pointing at Anakin with his wooden spoon. “Let the _ad_ go and take a shower before I dump you in one of the pools. One of the _cold_ ones.”

Anakin is quick to put Skira down back in his chair, kissing the top of his head where his dark hair curls wildly. Obi-Wan keeps thinking that _maybe_ he should cut it a bit… but it’s too cute. Haat, the only other one sharing in the dark curls, can’t stand the feel of hair on his neck or ears, so Obi-Wan keeps it buzzed short in an almost military crop. The intense feelings of disquiet he got from the little boy when his hair first got too long was… it still gives him shivers to think about it.

About half an hour later, the meal is ready and Anakin smells of soap instead of sweat, which is a vast improvement. He starts setting the table, casually floating the dishes to the kids entertainment. Obi-Wan would lecture him on his “frivolous use of the Force” if he wasn’t doing the same, because whatever the Masters may say, keeping five Force-sensitive kids entertained is _difficult_ and goes a long way to avoid disasters. Especially now that Haat, of all the _Vod’ike_ , has started to show a measure of control in his own use of the Force. Until then, it had all been accidental and mostly harmless, but now Haat is doing it _on purpose_. And if he’s doing it, it means his brothers won’t be too long to catch up.

Bant and Garen arrive just in time, greeting them warmly and planting kisses on the kids’ cheeks and settling down with them around the table. Haat is signing to them the same two signs, repeatedly, but neither Jedi know Galactic Sign Language – and even if they did, Obi-Wan is pretty sure this is Mando’a hand-talk. He can see no reason why Haat would sign “Dancing Hutt”, aside from wanting to irremediably scar the mind of those around him. _Buir laare_ , however, makes sense. 

“I’m sorry Haat, we’ll need Obi or Ani to translate”, Bant eventually says, turning her head slightly to look at Obi-Wan. “Well? What is your son signing so desperately?” 

Obi-Wan sighs. So much for secrets, then. 

“That I was singing. They love it when I do, and it’s useful to get them used to hearing Mando’a.”  
“ _Ke’laarari, buir_ ”, a soft voice squeaks up. “ _Kar’ta Tor, buir. Ni laarari ti gar._ ” 

There’s a silence as everyone looks at Naak, who just- Force, who just spoke a full sentence in Mando’a like it’s nobody’s business, and Obi-Wan is standing there, shock-still. It takes him an embarrassingly long time to reply a rough “of course, _ad’ika_ ”, because he can’t think of anything else to do. Two of his sons just spoke their first words, Haat is becoming proficient with sign-language and Tracyn… Tracyn doesn’t say anything, but he _watches_. He watches, and Obi-Wan doesn’t doubt that even if it takes him a little longer, once he’ll get going, he’ll sign perfectly. Naak’s sentence, however, is a surprise – and he would even laugh a little inside at his accent, which is a mix of his and Anakin’s. Not Sundari, not Northern Mandalorian – something else altogether. 

He clears his throat, and eyes Naak. 

“ _Gar laarari ti ni_ ”, he repeats, because Naak kind of promised. 

Then he makes a face when he realizes what kind of song Naak asked for. At least, he had the presence of mind to keep himself from singing _buy’ce gal, buy’ce tal_ to them. They might be raised as Mando’ade, that doesn’t mean there aren’t some lines not to be crossed. His friends are looking at him expectantly, and he feels Anakin reach out through their bond. 

_I’ll sing too_ , he promises, and Obi-Wand doesn’t know what to make of that. He has never heard Anakin sing since his voice started to crack a year ago. It’s settled now, but he has no idea what Anakin’s singing is like. He knows he sings to the _Vod’ike_ when he’s just with them, and he knows his sons love his voice. But babies don’t always have the surest taste. 

He realizes he shouldn’t have worried when he starts singing and Anakin follows him, his voice a smooth, rounded tenor that is a delight to hear, and that betrays just slightly how loud Anakin could be if he wanted to. Naak, just as he promised, joins in, sounding absolutely delighted, and Runi hums with them, not yet quite up to words. Haat radiates wonder and Obi-Wan can’t help but notice Anakin’s hand on Tracyn’s back, feeling a shift in the Force there. He doesn’t know what his Padawan is doing, but Tracyn’s eyes are opened wide, his little mouth opened on a shocked “oh”. 

His friends and sons clap when they’re done and start talking animatedly and Obi-Wan help but think _this. This is what I want to keep._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Manda’yaim a’den mhi, Vode an! Bal kote, darasuum kote…:_
> 
> * * * We are Mandalore’s rage, brothers all, and glory, eternal glory
> 
> * . (Lyrics from Vode An, but slightly modified. Since Jango changed the lyrics from Mandalorian songs to fit the clones, I figured it wouldn't be too hard to tweak it back to what the originals must have been, since Obi-Wan can't know the clones' version).  
>  _Kote_ : Glory  
>  _laare_ : songs (from _laararir_ , to sing. I saw the word while researching Mandalorian songs).  
>  _Ke’laarari, buir_ : 
> *   
>  Sing, dad  
> 
> (NB: ke' denotes an order.)  
>  _Kar’ta Tor, buir. Ni laarari ti gar._ : 
> *   
>  Heart of Justice, dad. I sing with you.  
> 
>   
>  _Gar laarari ti ni_ : 
> *   
>  You sing with me.  
> 
>   
>  _buy’ce gal, buy’ce tal_ : 
> *   
>  a pint of ale, a pint of blood.  
> 
> 
> So! I know most babies don't talk this well this early but! I think baby clones are on the slightly creepy _is that a changeling_ spectrum, since they were engineered to learn fast and be adaptable. And here, they also have the Force and are all closely linked together. So when one of them learns to do something, the others aren't far behind, usually. I also think the stimulus of being surrounded by adult Jedi who interacy closely with them really helps them to develop fast.


	8. Vos - 0 / Vod'ike - 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Vod'ike are fearsome warriors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm writing a Jango PoV chapter and let me tell you I can't wait to get there bc he sure will have _words_ for Obi-Wan.
> 
> *
> 
> CT-3381 / Skira, blind.  
> CT-3382 / Tracyn, deaf, blond, golden eyes.  
> CT-3383/ Runi, Nautolan.  
> CT-3384/ Naak, Togruta.  
> CT-3385/Haat, autistic.

It’s a few days later that another of Obi-Wan’s… friends? - He’s hesitant to call him a friend, more willing to call him a pain in the ass, but he can’t say _that_ in front of the kids – knocks at his door. Obi-Wan recognizes _that_ Force-signature, and groans a little. He was right in thinking that his sons would follow Haat’s lead and soon use the Force willingly, and so he’s started to teach them through a game of Push-the-ball. The little ones have perked up at this new arrival, recognizing the presence as one they haven’t met yet. And they’ve met _a lot_ of Jedi already.

“Come in, Vos”, he calls.

The door slides open, and Quinlan Vos steps in. Without even looking at him, Obi-Wan knows he’s grinning. He _knows_.

“So it _is_ true you reproduced!”

Obi-Wan answers by Force-throwing a cushion at him. It has the added benefit of making his children giggle when Quinlan slaps it down and, exchanging a malicious glance with his kids and sharing his intent through the bonds he has with them, he claps his hands. All at once, _all_ of the cushions and pillows in the rooms throw themselves at Quinlan, who can’t avoid them all – especially as there is no ill-intent behind the throws, making them harder to detect. Haat is sharply precise, landing his square in Quinlan’s face, and Tracyn is relentless: he keeps his hold on one cushion and beats it repeatedly against the back of Quinlan’s knees. Skira holds true to his name and sends cushion after cushion sailing for Quinlan’s stomach with a vengeance. Naak and Runi take time to aim, and their hold is still a bit clumsy, but they do their share with glee.

“Ooof! Alright, alright, I surrender! I’m sorry!”  
“Apologize”, Runi says, and Naak nods.

They complement each other, Naak only speaking Mando’a, but understanding Basic, and Runi doing the exact opposite, with a few words of Mando’a sparsed in. Skira, so far, has been using the two indiscriminately, aside from the people he speaks to. He uses Basic with Anakin, Mando’a with Obi-Wan, and sometimes uses a few Huttese words. Obi-Wan doesn’t need to wonder where he learnt that, he’s just glad that so far, his kids seems to have avoided picking up any bad words. Force knows this will happen soon enough.

“ _Gar ke’ceta_ ”, Naak adds forcefully.

Obi-Wan smothers his laughter, and looks at Quinlan.

“You’d better start grovelling”, he says, mirth lighting his eyes.  
“I’m sorry”, he repeats, and a cushion bashes him in the head.

Skira definitely holds a grudge against his face. Obi-Wan knows it – even if he’s blind, Skira is very aware of what goes on around him. So he’s just decided he hates Vos. Or that he’ll be his best friend, one never really knows with Skira.

“Ow! I said I’m sorry!”  
“You don’t say it _right_ ”, Runi replies, stomping his foot.  
“Try saying ‘Ni ceta’”, Obi-Wan suggests.

After all, this is what Naak implied. They wanted a grovelling apology, and Quinlan was intent on giving them just that. So much power in such tiny hands, really.

“Alright, alright, _ni ceta_!”, Quinlan spills, holding his hands up in surrender. “ _Ni ceta, ni ceta!_ No more pillows, _please_.”

Obi-Wan snorts.

“The mighty Quinlan Vos, defeated by cushions and a bunch of _toddlers_. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

The kids giggle at that – of course their _buir_ is funny, how could they think anything else. Obi-Wan wraps up the game and his sons gather around him, like a bunch of chicks under a mama hen.

“ _Vod’ike_ , this is Jedi Master Quinlan Vos. Quin, my sons : Haat, Naak, Runi, Tracyn and Skira.”  
“Hello Master Vos”, Runi, Naak and Skira chorus together. Haat signs his greetings, and Tracyn just… stares at the Kiffar.  
“Sit”, Obi-Wan says, motioning to the couch. “I didn’t know you were in Temple.”  
“I just came back”, Quinlan replies, and Haat scrambles up the onto the couch and plops himself down on his lap. “…Okay, alright. What was I saying? Uh. Yeah, so I heard the rumours that you adopted five babies, and then that they were cl-” Obi-Wan makes a face and motions to zip his mouth, glancing at his children. “…Mandalorians, and honestly I thought it was all one big joke but Master Windu isn’t one to make jokes, is he?”  
“You’d be surprised”, Obi-Wan replies with a smile. “Things have changed since the little ones arrival.”  
“Yeah I was a bit surprised- scratch that I was flabbergasted when I saw a whole clan of Initiates jumping around in the pool and playing with a clan of younglings, and the Masters just… laughing and watching them?! I’m not saying it’s bad because it’s fu- _fracking_ great, but it was… unexpected? So I wanted to see if the rumours were true and meet your children myself.” He smiles deviously. “I’ll have _so many_ things to teach them. But also… _you_ , Obi-Wan Kenobi, a _crèche-master?”_  
“I think ‘father’ is far more impressive, personally, but yeah”, Obi-Wan admits. “That’s not all there is to it, is there?”

Quinlan glances meaningfully at Haat in his lap, and Obi-Wan nods and claps his hands.

_“Ik’aade! Ca’nara haa’tayli ba’vodu Plo! Oya!”_

The children reply with a loud “OYA” that would probably make their Mandalorian ancestors proud and Haat jumps down from Quinlan’s lap. Obi-Wan comms the Kel Dor Master, who _had_ to have been lurking around with how fast he’s there. The door opens and he finds himself swarmed by a wild herd of younglings, to his obvious delight. With Tracyn perched on his shoulders, Naak held under one of his arms and holding Haat’s hand, who is in turn holding Skira’s, who is holding Runi’s, the Master makes his way out, listening intently to Naak’s babble – about Vos, apparently, and how they all attacked him with pillows.  
Obi-Wan closes the door, pours some tea for Quinlan and himself and, on Quinlan’s recommendation, makes a third mug. He immediately recognizes the presence at his door: Siri. She has taken to the children, like everyone else, but he hasn’t seen much of her these past few months.

“You are directly concerned by the missions we’ve just been assigned”, Quinlan starts. “The Council is sending me after Jango Fett. He’s clearly involved, willingly or not, into whatever is going on that created your kids. Consensus is that he’s the one who sent them, but… well, if you hand me the letter, I might be able to tell. Either way, he must be found.”

Siri nods, her hands wrapped around her mug.

“I’ll be working closely with Quin, at least at first. They’re sending me out to find where the babies have come from. You know just like they do that there is a distinct possibility that there are more… more”, she concludes. “Their mere existence is illegal, but they, and possibly others, are just little kids. We can’t let the Republic condemn them for the crimes of others. I’m supposed to bring in any other that I might find, Force-sensitive or not.”

Obi-Wan has thought about it, of course. He wonders at the purpose of making clones – Jango doesn’t look like the type who would have some made illegally just to have spare parts at the ready. Cloning organs is highly regulated and expensive, sure, but still more ethic and way less expensive than cloning his entire self. And considering his kids… _deviations_ from the template, and that whoever sent them seemed to be absolutely convinced they would be killed even though they were just _babies_ … Well, it is only logical to think they are failed attempts at whatever it is these… _demagolkase_ are trying to do. Which means there are more, and he really doesn’t want to think about that.

He’s glad it’s Siri who’s taking care of this, because he couldn’t. Not just because he has his hands full, but because he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to keep his calm and not exact vengeance on the ones responsible for this mess. Which wouldn’t be very Jedi-like of him, as Qui-Gon often reminded him, but would certainly satisfy his thirst for justice.

Kriff, he’s going to have to meditate on that, isn’t he?

“Did the Council say anything about what they intend to do if you find more of them?”

Siri shrugs.

“They’re still debating that, I think. Master Plo seems to be in favour of upholding the Mandalorian tradition of adoption, the way you did, and have voluntary Jedi adopt the kids. I would have thought Master Yoda would have a fit just hearing that, but he almost looked like he agreed.”

Obi-Wan chuckles. Master Plo would adopt a bunch of clones in the _minute_ , given the opportunity. He’s already halfway to kidnapping the _Vod’ike_ as it stands. Still, he’s satisfied that such an option is being considered. The children would be safe in the Temple, at least, and it’s not like they lack the place – and this is not the only Temple, though he doesn’t know how the other Temples would welcome the idea. Jedha is a known pilgrimage and already welcomes Nulls, so he has little worry there.

“So you’re both going on long-term missions, then”, he replies. “How can I help you?”  
“If that’s okay with you, I’d like to read the letter from whoever sent your kids, and your droid”, Quinlan replies, holding his gloved hands up to make his meaning of _read_ clear. “If it’s really Fett who sent them, he’ll have left an imprint, and if it wasn’t, it’ll still be a hint for Siri.”  
“I’ll show you the letter, then”, Obi-Wan says with a nod. “As for ND-99, you’ll have to ask Anakin’s permission. He’s the one using it as a meditation tool, so he’s likely to have left a heavy imprint on it. It’s been a long time now, there’s probably not much left of whoever sent them.”

Quinlan grimaces: he thought about that, of course, but as things are now, it is still his best hope. Obi-Wan retrieves the letter while the Kiffar takes off his gloves, and curiously picks up a half-chewed toy. He immediately picks up impressions of warmth and joy, sated contentment and the pain of growing teeth. Obi-Wan’s face, open and smiling, accompanied with such a burst of love it leaves him floundering. He lets go of the toy and finds himself looking back at a smirking Obi-Wan, who’s holding out a piece of flimsi.

“Picked up on something, Quin?”  
“They love you”, Quinlan bursts out. “They love you so much, I had never felt anything like it. Well, I’d never bothered reading toys before, but Force it’s incredible.”

Siri snickers and he slaps her arm with his limp glove, before taking the flimsi from Obi-Wan’s hands. He skims over Obi-Wan’s thoughts and feelings, and Master Windu’s, to stop on whoever wrote on the flimsy first. There’s a burst of _intention_ , a strong determination that definitely reminds him of Obi-Wan, but he knows this is not Obi-Wan. There’s a steel-like feeling about it, both hotter and colder that whatever he’s ever felt from Obi-Wan. Whoever they are, they don’t shy away nor hide from their feelings, but embrace them fully, either to be discarded as unhelpful or unimportant, or nurtured and used to fuel their spirit into whatever needs doing. A flash of dark brown, nearly black eyes, of strong, callused fingers holding firmly onto a pen, and a burst of concern for a shifting baby, and Quinlan is pretty much convinced Jango Fett himself wrote that letter.

He gives the letter back to Obi-Wan and settles down to wait for Anakin to come back from his lessons and ask his permission to read the droid. Obi-Wan is sitting there and he looks… open and relaxed, like he did when they were much, much younger. Before things started to sour with Qui-Gon. The harsher lines on his face have faded away in the eight months he’s spent away from field-work, focused as he is on his sons and Padawan.

“You know what, Obi-Wan?” Quinlan says after a moment. “I never thought I’d say that one day, but fatherhood suits you.”

Obi-Wan’s answering smile is warm and obviously pleased, echoing the general feeling of the room. Quinlan basks in it, and it’s really not hard to get Obi-Wan to talk about his children. Anakin returns about an hour later and readily consents to Quinlan’s inquiry, though he still asks him to remain discreet about whatever he may pick up from him. Quinlan nods – he loves annoying people, yes, but this is a professional matter and Anakin’s trust is notoriously hard to get. He wasn’t sure the Padawan would agree, but apparently the well-being of his brothers trumps even his need for intimacy. Quinlan distinctly remembers being fifteen too, and he certainly wouldn’t have agreed to anything like that.

Quinlan and Siri end up leaving eventually, so Anakin and Obi-Wan go to pick up the _Vod’ike_ from Master Plo’s care. The Kel Dor isn’t in his quarters, but sitting on the ground in the gardens, with the kids sitting in his lap and pressed against his sides as he tells them a story. Haat and Naak are holding Tracyn’s hands, like they often do when people who don’t know how to sign are talking to them. Obi-Wan is pretty sure Tracyn is learning to read lips, but Master Plo’s mask makes it impossible, so Tracyn’s brothers are doing… whatever it is they do when they touch like this, but Tracyn seems just as enraptured as his brothers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Gar ke’ceta_ : You apologize (order, literally : You kneel).  
>  _“Ik’aade! Ca’nara haa’tayli ba’vodu Plo! Oya!”_ : Little ones (lit : babies) ! Time to see uncle Plo! Let’s go! (note: Oya can also mean let's hunt. I'm not saying Obi-Wan is seeking a hunt-party on Plo but... yeah alright that's what I'm saying.)  
>  _demagolkase_ : someone who commits atrocties, a real-life monster, a war criminal.  
> *
> 
> Also, if you're interested, I post snippets of this fic upcoming chapters on my Tumblr (same username, bittodeath), and of several other Star Wars fics I have going on (Solus Manda'yaim, Jetii'Kar'ta and Redemption, which are respectively sith!Obi-Wan, JangObi and time-traveller!Anakin).


	9. Kyr'am, su Kot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin "I don't see where the problem is"  
> Obi-Wan "*silent scream*"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost managed to write myself in a corner. ALMOST.  
> Also, for Jedi June, I'm writing for each of the Vod'ike. It's sometimes slightly AU, sometimes not, either way you can find the ficlets [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24569179/chapters/59335312)
> 
> *
> 
> CT-3381 / Skira, blind.  
> CT-3382 / Tracyn, deaf, blond, golden eyes.  
> CT-3383/ Runi, Nautolan.  
> CT-3384/ Naak, Togruta.  
> CT-3385/Haat, autistic.

Two months pass and Anakin’s Name-Day arrives. The _Vod’ike_ have picked up on the fact that it is something important to their _ori’vod_ – or, as they’ve taken to call him, Ani’vod – but not exactly _how_ , and Obi-Wan is delighted to see them plot in silence something to make their big brother happy. That something ends up being a very large painting, full of bursting colours, with stick-figures standing there under the sun. One can easily recognize the pools of the Room of a Thousand Fountains, where the figures are standing. There are eight of them, easy to recognize: Anakin is towering over all of them, with a large, wobbly red grin and his arms full of grey things Obi-Wan identifies as droid parts. There’s a grey-black thing on the side, which is apparently ND-99, and Obi-Wan’s stick-figure face is nearly taken over by vivid orange paint. Each of the children drew himself around them, though Haat’s is by far the most detailed, and there’s greenery all around. Obi-Wan has no doubt Anakin will love it.

As for him, Obi-Wan cooked him his favourite meal – one of the most heturam of Mandalorian recipes, and one they still have to share with the children. He’s also found _ne’tra gal_ , which Anakin tasted once when he had some and absolutely loved, but now that he’s turning sixteen and is legal to drink and Coruscant, well, at least he’ll have something he likes when they spend a moment with friends. His real present, however, is a specific type of multi-tool Anakin has been drooling on for months. It was a bit expensive, but it is useful and Obi-Wan has no doubt Anakin will be delighted.

He was right to think Anakin would love it: his teen Padawan very nearly cries at the thoughtful gift, his grin wide when he receives the large drawing. He immediately goes into his room and sticks it to the wall, next to a number of holo-pics going back up to his arrival at the Temple. In a couple of years, Anakin is pretty sure his baby brothers will be _mortified_ to have baby pictures of them up on his wall, and he’ll be able to tease them mercilessly, but the pictures fill him with warmth.

Two months, as quick as they may pass, have still brought changes to the five boys: they are now ten months old, but developed as though they were twenty. A year and a half, and not just average children either: they learn incredibly fast, and it scares Obi-Wan a bit. Was Jango Fett just _that_ smart, or were his babies modified further than their altered aging? There is no way to know, not without exposing them to the world, not without endangering them. As things are now, though, they are all potty-trained, which is a _huge_ relief – Obi-Wan was already sick of nappies and the knowledge that parents normally go through this for more than a year fills him with fright – and can undress themselves alone. They’re very eager to put their clothes on themselves in the morning, and Obi-Wan truly works on his patience, because eagerness doesn’t make up for proficiency and for now, it is usually a huge mess.

There’s also the fact that Haat refuses to wear any ‘scratchy’ fabric, making clothes a difficult endeavour, and Runi seems to have a thing against wearing clothes altogether. That one, Obi-Wan knows he needs to lay down at Master Fisto’s feet, who finds the whole thing hilarious. He has now taught all of them to swim, but instead of letting go of the small lessons, he’s changed them into teaching them how to move underwater, slow, simple katas that they shouldn’t yet be learning. It must be easier for them, Obi-Wan notices, because when they try to replicate the moves on the ground, they usually fall on their _shebs_. Seeing as they no longer wear nappies during the day, it’s a slightly more painful experience, but it is not enough to deter them.

The bedroom seems much smaller now, with five beds filling it, but Obi-Wan knows that when they’ll be old enough, they’ll make a switch for bunk beds. The biggest problem, though, is their separation anxiety. The crèche-masters have warned him they’re at an age where this is a big change, they have warned him that it’s worse with Force-sensitive kids because they _project_ so much, but he still wasn’t prepared for the sheer _agony_ that is attending a duty or training Anakin for a few hours while leaving them in a Master’s care – usually Plo, Kit or Shaak Ti. He knows better than to go back because they cry for him through their bonds, they have to learn that, but it is still horrible and fills him with guilt. He knows it is their feelings he has; he knows that he hasn’t _abandoned_ them, but it still feels like a betrayal.

Afterwards, of course, he gets hugs. Haat will usually stay stuck to him like glue for an hour at least, while Skira, showing pig-headedness already, will pout for a long moment before coming for his. At least he doesn’t have the problem of having to get them used to sleeping alone, seeing as they never slept in his room anyway. He isn’t sure how they will adapt to being separated later – probably badly. Their brotherly bonds appear to be akin to twin Force-bonds, and the Order has learnt by now that training Force-sensitive twins separately is a very bad idea.

That’s why he’s surprised when he goes to give a lesson to Initiates, as it has now been added to his schedule, leaving the kids with Anakin who has agreed to babysit, seeing as Mace had to cancel their usual training session for an emergency meeting, and his sons cry out and reach out to him, before quickly stopping, their attention drawn elsewhere. No one yet has managed to calm them down this quickly, as their upset tends to feed into each other. He’s very curious – and slightly worried – to know what Anakin has done. He almost reaches out to him, but Anakin feels calm and settled through their bond, a state he usually only achieves in meditation, and he doesn’t dare to disturb him.

When he comes back, two hours later, he is swarmed by his children, like usual, but the whole experience is significantly less jarring. He settles Haat in the crook of his arm and lays down on the couch, letting them crawl over him and plop down wherever they happen to be for a contented snuggle. It isn’t long before they’re sleeping – they cut their afternoon nap short for one reason or another again, and now drowsiness has caught back to them. Again.

“How did you get them to handle my being away so quickly?” he asks Anakin, whispering.

His Padawan, who has grown again and will very soon be towering over him, as he shows no sign of stopping, smirks like the cat who caught the canary.

“Meditation”, he replies.

Obi-Wan frowns.

“Meditation? What do you mean?”  
“I got them to meditate and it calmed them down”, Anakin replies. “Haat Saw you were coming back and it was enough to comfort them and get them to do something else, and eventually sleep a bit.”

Obi-Wan pauses in his rubbing of Naak’s back, his hand still easily spanning the little boy’s torso, and stares back at his Padawan.

“Anakin, they’re not even _two_.”  
“And?” Anakin replies, clearly not seeing the problem.  
“It’s too kriffing young to meditate!” Obi-Wan replies, incensed.

Anakin gasps in outrage

“Language, _ba’juad!”_  
“Anakin, we don’t start teaching the basics of meditation before _at least_ three, and more often than not it’s four!”  
“They managed well!” Anakin protests, defensive. “I was careful not to let them go too far, and it worked!”

Obi-Wan mutters under his breath and rubs at his eyes.

“Haat managed it first, didn’t he?”

Anakin shakes his head.

“Skira. Skira got the hang of it almost immediately. I had to keep a close eye on Haat, because he tends to sink really deep.”

Obi-Wan takes a breath and gets rid of his fear and irritation. Getting small children to meditate is usually complicated, but also dangerous, as they could easily go down too far – or meditate by emptying their mind, leaving the space open for something _other_ to take it. It hasn’t happened in a long time, of course, but it is still a very real threat. And, farther than that, is the fact that if they can meditate, then they have to learn to shield. But Anakin didn’t grow up in the crèche and likely has no idea the task of a crèche-master was this extensive.

“Sorry I got angry, I was scared. I will explain so you’ll understand why. I guess their training will start sooner than planned. Now, tell me how you got them to do that?”  
“Chanting”, Anakin replies immediately. “I found a chanting for the _Resol’nare_ rhymes on the HoloNet, and I used that to build a rhythm. Then, when they were focused enough and completely into the rhythm, I started to slow it down and introduce the Code. In the end, the Code lulled them to sleep, which is what I consider a successful meditation.”

Obi-Wan bites back the urge to snort: he doesn’t count the number of times Anakin has fallen asleep when he was supposed to be meditating.

“That was inventive”, he replies. “You did a good job, despite the dangers.” Then he grins, like a shark. “Congratulations, you just earned your first lessons to younglings. I’m putting you in charge of their meditation sessions.”  
“What?! Master, I’m _terrible_ at meditating! Why would you do that? I’ll just look like a fool and their training will be stunted because of me and it’ll be awful! _Master_!”, he repeats, indignant, when Obi-Wan starts to laugh at his tirade.  
“Anakin, you’re _not_ terrible at meditating, it’s simply a matter of means! Look at you, I tried to teach you traditionally and you fall asleep, but the moment you get your hands on machinery, you’re wading so deep into the Force I can barely reach you again!” He shakes his head and huffs. “You tried a different approach and you got them meditating. I’ll teach them shielding because it’s too important, but you definitely get to teach them to meditate.”  
“Why do I feel like you just cursed me?” his Padawan whines, and Obi-Wan smirks.  
“Because I just did.”

The other Masters’ reaction, when he tells them, are very similar to his own, and it’s enough for Master Yoda to insist on sitting on a session. Obi-Wan can’t help but wonder whether it’s the kids he wants to gauge, or his Padawan, who has been progressing steadily. He is still arrogant at times, but his training with Mace, other than refining his lightsabre skills and turning him into a fearsome duellist, gets him to work on his anger in a way Obi-Wan himself never managed to do. He knows this is through no fault of his: try as he might, his initial pairing with Anakin as his Padawan was far from ideal, and he had, then, to wade through his own massive anger and grief, letting Anakin’s to fester. Mace, for all that his relationship with Anakin started badly, has a distance that greatly benefits his Padawan.

Obi-Wan hesitated but ultimately decided to sit in on the meditation training as well, curious to see first-hand how Anakin handles his brothers when he isn’t there to referee. And so, he’s sitting a bit farther, with Master Yoda, and watching as Anakin claps his hands, standing in the living-room.

“ _Vod’ike!”_ , he calls, _“mirjahaal!”_

There is a loud cry of joy, “oya” calls answering him, and the five little boys arrive promptly, each clutching a small meditation cushion in his hands. Anakin sets his own cushion down and settles, letting each of his brothers throwing or carefully placing his cushion on the ground around him in a circle. Obi-Wan immediately notices that they don’t settle down in the same position: Haat is sitting cross-legged and ram-rod straight, as is Naak, but Skira, Tracyn and Runi have all opted for kneeling on their cushions, their feet tucked under their behinds. They get comfortable, looking eagerly at Anakin, who starts to pound a slow, growing rhythm on his chest, right over his heart.

“ _Ba'jur_ ”, Anakin says, his voice strong. “ _Bal beskar'gam_ ”, he adds with another pound, “ _Ara'nov, aliit, Mando'a bal Mand'alor — An vencuyan mhi._ ”

Skira, Naak and Runi then start to recite with him, with Haat and Tracyn simply keeping the rhythm. The rhythm steadies and Obi-Wan closes his eyes, easily sliding into a meditative state himself. One by one, his children start meditating, and it’s a beautiful thing to witness, their five minds tightly intertwined in the Force, Anakin watching over them with a shriek-hawk’s attention. The pounding grows slower, and Anakin’s voice softer.

“ _Ba'jur_ ”, he recites agains, “ _aal, su naak, bal beskar'gam, Nu'kar'tayl su Kar'tayl, Ara'nov, Aal’dralne su Udeslayc, aliit, Ne'serimyc, su yaim'la, Mando'a bal Mand'alor, Kyr'am, su Kot — An vencuyan mhi._”

Obi-Wan can feel Master Yoda’s confusion as the recitation goes steadily longer, words added to it, and he smiles: Anakin had asked for his help to adapt the Initiate Code in Mando’a, but Obi-Wan hadn’t thought _this_ would be its use. One by one, the words of the Resol’nare disappear, leaving him with only the Code in Mando’a, his voice quiet but still steady. The _Vod’ike_ are settled in meditation, not too deep, but calm and content as they commune with the Force and each other.

“ _Aal su Naak, Nu'kar'tayl su Kar'tayl, Aal’dralne su Udeslayc, Ne'serimyc, su yaim'la, Kyr'am, su Kot_”, Anakin says again, breathes, and stops.

The children open their eyes and come out of meditation, their minds at peace and on the same wave-length. Obi-Wan is still slightly breath-taken, and Master Yoda feels both unsettled and elated. He may not understand Mando’a, but he still felt the deep meaning of the words uttered. To Obi-Wan, it is a wonderful thing to hear the Jedi Code recited in Mando’a, further meshing both cultures, just as it feels great to hear the Resol’nare in the Temple. The Force hums around them, clearly standing with them.

_Gar draa ru’cuyi dar’tome, Jeti’ika_, it seems to whisper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _ori'vod_ : big brother.  
>  _heturam_ : mouth-burn.  
>  _ne’tra gal_ : black ale.  
>  _shebs_ : backside.  
>  _ba'juad_ : teacher / master.  
>  _mirjahaal_ : peace of mind, *healing*, general term for emotional well-being especially after a trauma or bereavement / here, used to mean “meditation”.  
> “ _Ba'jur, Bal beskar'gam, Ara'nov, aliit, Mando'a bal Mand'alor — An vencuyan mhi._ ”: Education and armor, self-defense, our tribe, our language, our leader—all help us survive.  
>  _Ba'jur, aal, su naak, bal beskar'gam, Nu'kar'tayl su Kar'tayl, Ara'nov, Aal’dralne su Udeslayc, aliit, Ne'serimyc, su yaim'la, Mando'a bal Mand'alor, Kyr'am, su Kot — An vencuyan mhi._ ”: this is literally a mix of the Initiates' Code and the Resol'nare. For the Code, see under and notes. Education, emotion, yet peace, and armor, Ignorance, yet knowledge, self-defence, passion, yet serenity, our tribe, Chaos, yet harmony, our language, our leader, Death, yet the Force - all help us survive.  
>  _Aal su Naak_ : emotion yet peace  
>  _Nu'kar'tayl su Kar'tayl_ : Ignorance, yet knowledge  
>  _Aal’dralne su Udeslayc_ : Passion, yet serenity  
>  _Ne'serimyc, su yaim'la_ : Chaos, yet harmony  
>  _Kyr'am, su Kot_ : Death, yet the Force.  
> (see A/N lower to know how I "translated" the Code bc it was a ride)  
>  _Gar draa ru’cuyi dar’tome, Jeti’ika_ : You were never meant to be apart / You were never apart.
> 
> A/N: SO! Yeah translating the Code (and I chose the Initate Code both bc I like it better and because it was easier to work with (less words)) was a ride, especially as a good number of words apparently don't exist in Mando'a. Which means I had to make them up, with sometimes nothing _even close_ to the meaning I wanted. So here are my explanations:  
>  _Aal_ : emotion (from aalyc, emotional).  
>  _Aal'dralne_ : passion (lit: the most powerful emotion).  
>  _Udeslayc_ : serenity (from udesla, calm, serene).  
>  _Ne'serimyc_ : Chaos (lit: not-right, wrong), from serimir, to be right, accurate. (This one was a right pain in the ass. You would have thought WARRIORS would have a concept of order, right? Well apparently not.)  
>  _Yaim'la_ : it is a world that exists (like mirjahaal) but to which I added another, close meaning. So: at home, comfortable, but I used it to translate harmony.


	10. Cin Vhetin - Part 1 & 2: Jehaat.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan may know a lot about Mandalorian traditions, but he doesn't know _everything_. Which means getting help from actual _Mando'ade_.  
> He's not sure his decision is actually _wise_ , but it's certainly where the Force pushes him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is in two parts bc the second part was too short to make a full chapter.  
> We're entering the first full arc of the story: Cin Vhetin.  
> Wild OCs appeared, I had NOT planned for them but here they are and so far they seemed determined to stay. (What can I say, I needed random Mando'ade)  
> Wad'e Tay'haii, however, is a canon character from the _Cuy Val Dar_. Poor guy asked for nothing.
> 
> *
> 
> CT-3381 / Skira, blind.  
> CT-3382 / Tracyn, deaf, blond, golden eyes.  
> CT-3383/ Runi, Nautolan.  
> CT-3384/ Naak, Togruta.  
> CT-3385/Haat, autistic.

Time flies and leaves Obi-Wan a bit wrong footed. It seems strange that he got his babies a year ago. A mere year. _Already_ a year. They act and behave like two years old toddlers, and have very recently discovered the wonders of the word “no”. No matter what he proposes, what he asks, the answer is no – _nayc_ , as Naak says. It’s aggravating, but Obi-Wan is just as stubborn as his Mando’ade toddlers, with the added benefit of being a Jedi Knight and thus having a lot more patience.

The problem – and Obi-Wan sometimes hesitates to consider it a problem – is Anakin. His dear Padawan is entirely too weak to the _Vod’ike’s_ puppy eyes, which they have mastered, and he already was an enabler. He has enough sense to not let them get hurt, sure, but he’s still a teenager. Most of the time, Obi-Wan doesn’t mind. He scolds when Anakin bends and gives them chocolate right before dinner, not only spoiling their appetites, but also increasing their sugar intake right before bed, or when they get themselves splattered with paint after taking a bath. Most of the time.

Obi-Wan draws the line at glitter-bombs, though, he remarks, staring at his reflection in the mirror and his glitter-covered clothes. How is he supposed to look dignified when he sparkles in the sunlight? He’s _never_ getting rid of this, _never_. And to think he had business to attend to, business he’d been planning for a month, and that he’ll attend to it with glitter in his beard and hair.

At least, it’ll lend credence to his tale. Or so he tells himself to reassure himself. He isn’t quite sure what is the Mandalorian stance on glitter, actually. Sighing, he steps back into the sonics, clothes and all, and gets rid of most of the sparkling disaster. _Most_. His beard and hair, even after he’s carefully combed them, still hold gold, silver, copper and turquoise glints.

“Anakin”, he says, crossing his arms, and his Padawan looks back with his eyes full of mirth though he _knows_ there’ll be hell to pay for that.  
“Master”, he replies, chocking on his snicker, “trying a new style?”  
“Revenge might not be the Jedi way, but you’re not getting away that easily”, Obi-Wan warns, trying not to laugh too.

It’s hard, with Anakin barely containing his laughter and his sons outright laughing. He pats and shakes off the robes he’d pulled out of his closet, and then dusts his own clothes. Anakin’s eyes widen just slightly at the civilian garb.

“Are we going somewhere?” Anakin asks.  
“ _You_ are not going anywhere”, Obi-Wan replies. “You’re on baby-sitting duty until Master Plo, Fisto and Ti come to relieve you for your classes. _I_ am going down a few levels, to Little Manda’yaim, for intel I cannot find anywhere.”

He doesn’t say a thing, not in front of his sons, but they both know it is a risky endeavour. Mando’ade are notoriously _not_ fond of Jedi, and even going in with a story, no sabre, and no outward mean to identify him as a Force-user, Obi-Wan still knows someone could recognize him.

_“Ni ola ti gar!”_ Naak says, wrapping his arms around his leg, and Obi-Wan smiles.

Obi-Wan crouches, and cups his face in his hand – or rather, the side of a lekku.

“Not yet, _ad’ika_. But soon.”

He straightens up and pats his pockets, making sure he has everything he needs, but before he can leave, he finds himself swarmed by wriggly kids, and he has to crouch back down and hug them, kissing a montral, tapping his forehead against another, and rubbing soft hair. He wonders if, maybe, they can feel his own anticipation. He wouldn’t be surprised if they did, and it’s harder than it should be to step outside and call a cab to take him down to Little Manda’yaim.

He rarely goes down there – few Jedi do, they have no wish to anger the Mandalorians there, either residents or passers-by. Amongst the many levels of Coruscant, Little Manda’yaim is, as its name suggest, a little Mandalore in the gigantic city-planet. It stands out, and not just because the three-fourth of the people there are wearing armour. There is an atmosphere to the place that is entirely due to the Mando’ade. Reports show that Jango Fett has stopped by regularly, before he disappeared around seven years before. He’s been seen since, but he hasn’t come back since Obi-Wan got the _Vod’ike_. He knows this is not a coincidence, nor the fact that Quinlan can’t, apparently, get close enough to the man when he appears, and Jango Fett is more often than not gone from any known planet, before he reappears suddenly.

People look his way when he passes, but he keeps his head held high and his step confident and sure, the blaster on his thigh an obvious display. He desperately tries to forget about the glitter in his beard and his hair. He finds the _Jatnese_ quite easily, the cantina easily the largest building in this part of the city. He can’t help his light shudder at the sight of so many Mando’ade in one place. Some are _Kyr’stad_ , but they keep to themselves and he avoids them like the plague. There’s the odd New Mandalorian, but given how they’ve broken with tradition, they’re not often seen in these parts, keeping themselves to places where their vision is… more welcome. Most are part of the Old Clans, bounty hunters who keep to the _Resol’nare_ but aren’t organized like _Kyr’stad_ , or like the _Haat Mando’ade_ were.

Despite his slight notice-me-not, a good number look at him, obviously or not. He had guessed that much: Mandalorians are notoriously stubborn, after all, and not easily subjected to Force Suggestion. Still, it never hurts to try. He walks up to the bar, and settles down on a stool, eyeing the bartender. They’re in full armour, sans _buy’ce_ , which he can’t see but supposes isn’t far. The blue and orange painting suggests reliability and a lust for life, which seems fitting for a bartender. Not that Dahl Mev is just _any_ bartender, Obi-Wan did his research. He’s part of the Old Clans, just and honourable, and also the best source of intel among the Mando’ade.

_“Me’copaani?”_, the man asks, looking at him, and Obi-Wan can tell those clear bright blue eyes are assessing him.  
“ _Buy’ce gal_”, Obi-Wan replies, “ _bal din’kartay_.”  
“ _Meg din’kartay?_”  
“Can you listen to a story?” Obi-Wan asks with a slightly sad smile, taking his glass in hand.

Dahl leans on the counter, staring at him intently. Don’t think about the glitter.

“ _Jorhaa’i_”, he replies with a nod.  
“I’m not Mando’ad yet myself”, Obi-Wan explains, sinking into the story he carefully crafted. “But my _riduur_ was, before he disappeared.” His lips turn down in a frown. “Well, it’s been long enough now that-” He gestures with his drink. “ _Kaysh cuylayc taab'echaaj'la_”, he says bitterly. “I adopted a kid, quite recently. We’d planned to do so, and I want to raise them as _Mando’ad_ , to honour my _riduur_ and our vows. But there are things he never told me about and I find myself stumped.”

Dahl hums, and Obi-Wan feels, in the Force, the quiet approval and desire to help. He resents his lie a bit, but there’s no way he’s coming in here as a Jedi and getting himself killed.

“ _Gar aliit?”_ Mev asks.  
“Ben Tay’haii”, Obi-Wan replies.

Dahl frowns.

“I didn’t know Wad’e got married”, he replies.  
“We kept ourselves discreet”, Obi-Wan says, and smiles ruefully. “Now I’m regretting it.”

Dahl isn’t surprised, and Obi-Wan didn’t expect him to be. The Mando’ade don’t usually flaunt their relationships, and it wouldn’t be unlikely for a couple to get married and not tell anyone yet – especially if one of them isn’t sworn to the Resol’nare. Also, Obi-Wan is asking for help for his child, and he has yet to find a Mando’ad – well, not counting _Kyr’stad_ , but they’re assholes anyway – who resisted such a call. He knows Dahl has a child himself, of age and at large in the galaxy, but still.

“I’ll help”, Dahl replies after a moment of consideration. “What do you need to know?”  
“When and how is it appropriate to give armour to the little ones?” Obi-Wan asks. “I’m not even sure I’m suited to do that, given-”

Dahl stops him.

“You’re their _buir_ , even if you’re not one of us yet. It is your duty to give them armour and train them.” He settles down, and another mans the bar for him. “You start with the _buy’ce_ and _kom’rk_. Materials will depend on the age and training of the child. The kids raised from infancy will receive theirs between two and five, depending on the clan. Plastoid, to be light and not hinder their growth. The point is to get them used to the feeling. And also because they like to imitate the grown-ups”, he says with a quirk of his lips. “When they’re still little, it’s for special occasions, though sometimes it’s hard to pry them out of it. The rest, you add as they grow up and learn. Stick to plastoid until they’re at least eight, and be careful later. Heavier armours are better for one who is fully grown.”

Obi-Wan had no idea they started wearing armour that early, but it definitely will make things easier: with the helmets, he’ll be able to take his _vod’ike_ outside without revealing their identity as clones.

“ _Vor entye_ ”, he replies. “This definitely helps.”

Dahl’s eyebrows shift, and he slaps his shoulder.

“Come with me, I’ll take you to the Armourer we have here on Coruscant. Helmets need re-fitting as they grow.”

Dahl guides him farther, to a smithy, who finishes the piece they’re working on before turning to them. They don’t remove their helmet, but Obi-Wan feels their friendly demeanour in the Force, which only intensifies when Dahl explains why he took ‘Ben’ here. Sathi Nott, as the Armourer is called, shoos Dahl out of their workshop and sits Obi-Wan down.

“I haven’t done armour for children in a long time”, they confess, excitation piercing in their voice. “They do more on Mandalore than here. There aren’t many of our children on Coruscant. Now, tell me about your little one, so I know what to do.”  
“ _Adiike_ ”, Obi-Wan corrects, grimacing. “More than one, I’m afraid.”

Sathi perks up even more at that, and would clap their hands in glee if they weren’t trying to go for something a bit more dignified.

“I have five kids”, Obi-Wan finally says. “They’re two years old.”  
“All five?” Sathi replies. “I’m not sure whether that’s bravery or _jare’la_ ”, they say with a laugh, and grab a pad to take down notes. “Now, tell me everything.”  
“Three of them are humans”, Obi-Wan replies, and hands her a datapad with the measurements he took as a precaution. “One is part-Togruta, the other is part-Nautolan.”  
Sathi whistles.  
“A _buy’ce_ for a Nautolan, I do like a bit of challenge. What about the HUD? Anything I should know?”

Obi-Wan nods.

“About the three humans, yes. One is blind, so a visual HUD will be of no use for him. The other is deaf, and the last one really won’t like it if the visuals are too bright or the sounds too shrill.”

They lower the datapads and stare at him.

“And yet, you want to raise them as _Mando’ade_. You are _mandokarla_ , Ben. It’s not wonder Wad’e gave you his vows.”

Obi-Wan ducks his head, both because his cheeks are actually flaming, and also because if they knew Wad’e Tay’haii, he’s in deep shit. The man disappeared six years ago, didn’t have any known partner, and no one had seen him in the meantime, so he was the perfect candidate for Obi-Wan’s charade. Doesn’t mean he can’t still get in trouble.

Sathi nods, and takes the datapads.

“Then I’ll add the sigils on their helmets for you”, they say. “We Mando’ade help our own, after all.” They pause. “It’ll take a few days, and I don’t have enough plastoid here. You got a comm for me? I’ll give you a call when I’ve got it all ready.”

Obi-Wan got a comm especially for this, linked not to his real identity but to that of Ben Tay’haii, which he’s been making as legit as possible, and he hands them that. He also pays half of the total price for their work, noticing inwardly that this was very likely to make a hole in his finances. Getting them a complete armour, once they’re grown up, would be extremely expensive, and he resolves to set aside funds just for that.

He can tell Sathi is eyeing him through their visor, and tilts his head.

“You don’t wear any armour”, they say.  
“It is not my right”, he replies. “I know better than to wear _beskar’gam_.”

On Mandalore, it would be a death sentence. He isn’t tempting fate, though – so far, fate has usually decided to take his baits. He also knows what she is really saying: tradition would have Wad’e and him exchanging armour parts – usually vambraces – or weapons like knives upon their _riduurok_. But he isn’t Mandalorian, and that simple fact is enough to let a lot slide by.

“Well, we’ll see to that”, they reply, and he can tell they’re grinning under their _buy’ce_.

Some part of him is thrilled and wants to say “yes”. The other knows better than to accept a gift proposed when they don’t see him as an enemy yet. He can’t hope to keep his children a secret for too long: even if he’s careful, soon enough, someone will make the link between the man who asked for advice for his five _ad’ike_ and the Jedi raising five Mandalorian Jedi. When that time comes, he doubts he’ll still be welcome in Little Manda’yaim.

So he gives them a curt nod, and makes his way back to the Temple.

*

“Say”, his contact suddenly asks, perking up. “Did you know that Wad’e Tay’haii got married, before he disappeared?”

Jango pauses. He knows for a fact that Wad’e isn’t exactly _disappeared_. Nor is he married in any way, otherwise, Jango wouldn’t have asked him to become part of the _Cuy’val Dar_. So this is very, very unexpected, especially since his contact seems convinced of the truth of his words. No matter how this came about, he’s _definitely_ going to tease Wad’e when he comes back to Kamino.

“Never heard about that”, he replies, resuming his work. “How did you know?”  
“Word came from Little Manda’yaim”, his contact says. “His _riduur_ showed up to Jatnese. The guy isn’t mando, apparently, but he still decided to adopt _and_ honour their vows by raising the kid as Mando’ade. Or kids, that part wasn’t very clear.”

Jango very ostensibly doesn’t pause, but his brain his firing in all directions. Especially, it’s dragging towards something he’s been trying to forget, thinking he had failed. A red-haired _Jetii_ and five baby clones.

“Did the guy say his name?” he asks gruffly, trying to show the right amount of curiosity for Mando’ade-related gossip.  
“Ben, from what I heard”, his contact replies. “Crazy, uh?”

This time, Jango pauses, because he’s hesitating between hyper-ventilating and laughing out loud. He knows ‘Ben’ is the alias one Obi-Wan Kenobi used during his year-long stint on Mandalore. It can’t be a coincidence. Jango doesn’t believe in chance, luck, or that thrice-damned Force the _Jetii_ believe in, and this is a sign. That, at least in part, he succeeded. Not only were the kids safe, but the Jedi were apparently heeding his vow and raising them as Mando’ade.

He could blow Obi-Wan’s cover, but that would be counter-productive, to say nothing about the _osik_ he’d find himself in. Instead, he opts for silence. Let Obi-Wan do as he must, and hope his fellow Mando’ade can see past their hate for the _Jetii_ and into what he’s been building. Or maybe…

“Wait, Ben Tay’haii?” he asks, looking deliberately pensive. “I didn’t know they were married, but… yeah I can see it.” He gives a nod. “Last I heard of him, he was well on his way to become one of us, but… I guess Wad’e disappearing set him back.”  
“You know him?” his contact says eagerly. “Well, if it’s like that, then it won’t be long before he’s sworn to the Resol’nare now that he’s got kids.”

Jango shrugs.

“We met”, he corrects.

Is he deliberately pushing the _Jetii_ towards the path of the Mando’ade? Who knows. He got him to adopt five of his clones, after all. Maybe he can get him to adopt a few more. Maybe – and it’s a thought that keeps him up at night – there is hope for the _Haat Mando’ade_ to be reborn. Wouldn’t it be fitting, for the _Jetii_ to revive what they destroyed?

“Keep me appraised”, he adds. “I’m curious about him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _cin vhetin_ : fresh start, clean slate - lit. white field, virgin snow - term indicating the erasing of a person's past when they become Mandalorian, and that they will only be judged by what they do from that point onwards; like the *first turn of the screw cancels all debts* for sailors.  
>  _jahaat_ : lie, untruth.  
>  _Ni ola ti gar!_ : I come with you.  
>  _Jatnese_ : The best (plural) ; reference to _Jatnese be te Jatnese_ , “the best of the best”.  
>  _Kyr’stad_ : Death Watch.  
>  _Haat Mando'ade_ : True Mandalorians (aka Jango's clan).  
>  _buy'ce_ : helmet.  
>  _Me’copaani?_ : What do you want?  
>  _Buy’ce gal_ : a pint of ale.  
>  _bal din’kartay_ : and intel (lit: information).  
>  _Meg din’kartay?_ : What [kind of] intel?  
>  _Jorhaa’i_ : talk.  
>  _riduur_ : spouse.  
>  _Kaysh cuylayc taab'echaaj'la_ : He probably marched far away (ie: he’s probably dead).  
>  _Gar aliit?_ : Your family ? (= your name, who are you?)  
>  _kom’rk_ : vambrace.  
>  _Vor entye_ : thank you.  
>  _jare’la_ : stupidly oblivious of danger, asking for it.  
>  _mandokarla_ : having the *right stuff*, showing guts and spirit, the state of being the epitome of Mando virtue.  
>  _riduurok_ : love bond, specifically between spouses - marriage agreement.
> 
> *
> 
> Sathi Nott, the Armourer, is of course heavily inspired from The Armourer in _The Mandalorian_ as far as aesthetics go. In fact, I think of them as someone related (definitely someone from the same clan).


	11. Cin Vhetin - Part 3: Coruscant.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan can finally take his kiddos outside the Temple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really really _really_ wanted to post part 4 following this and I thought I could because I was like "I've written a lot for this, surely I can afford to post TWO chapters, even knowing writing will be harder this summer?" and then I checked how many chapters were ready and okay, I'm ready for the next month and I did write a lot, but idiot me wrote scenes well beyond where we are that I haven't caught up to yet.  
> (Let's just say Obi-Wan and Jango's first meeting doesn't go as I had planned but the plus side is Jango being both horrified and a bit turned-on because "what the hell did I actually do". It involves Dred Priest and sound ass-kicking.)
> 
> *
> 
> CT-3381 / Skira, blind.  
> CT-3382 / Tracyn, deaf, blond, golden eyes.  
> CT-3383/ Runi, Nautolan.  
> CT-3384/ Naak, Togruta.  
> CT-3385/Haat, autistic.

Sathi calls Obi-Wan two weeks later to tell him the helmets are ready and he can come pick them up. He’s quick to go, eager to see their work and finally be able to take his kids outside. When he gets to the Armourer’s workshop, though, Dahl is there too, talking with them and admiring their handiwork.

He glances up at Obi-Wan, and straightens, but the smile doesn’t leave his face.

“Five, _burc’ya?_ If you hadn’t told me you were with Wad’e, I could definitively have guessed that. _Five toddlers. Kaysh jare_.” He gestures. “I should have guessed, though.” He grins. “The glitter gave it away.”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes dramatically.

“It gets everywhere and I can’t get rid of it.”

Dahl laughs and claps his shoulder as he leaves, though he does pause beside him.

“Come visit with your little ones. You want to raise them as _Mando’ade_? You bring them around Mando’ade.”

Obi-Wan feels that there’s more to the proposition than just to show off his kids, and he feels dread at the thought that they bought his lie a bit _too much_. He might be raising Mandalorian Jedi, that doesn’t mean he can-

He pauses. On the side of the Order, nothing is really stopping him. Well, he can’t exactly swear to the _Resol’nare_ because- he’s sworn to the Order first, so he can’t be sworn to the _Mand’alor_. He almost grimaces at the thought of swearing himself to _Jango Fett_ , of all people. Or worse, that Satine might take it as an invitation.

He’ll have to tread carefully, very carefully, but as long as they welcome him, he’ll learn and get this longed for taste of Mandalore. He’ll definitely bring his kids, as he knows one thing for sure: the _Mando’ade_ would never hurt them.

“I will”, he replies simply, and Dahl smiled before getting out.  
“ _Olarom_ , Ben! Come, I’ll show you”, Sathi says, guiding him further into the forge.

On a shelf, he finds five small, gleaming helmets in dark grey plastoid, the appearance mimicking beskar – though it’s not as shiny. Three are meant for humans, and there are symbols painted in black on the side of them, which he recognizes as the medical symbols signalling injured or impaired Mando’ade to their brethren. The last two are altered, one to fit montrals without squishing them and giving Naak headaches, the other shortened to allow for head-tentacles. His heart beats a little bit faster at the sight, like when he first requested shoes to the quartermaster for his growing _ade_.

It's a milestone. He hasn’t wanted to think of it like this, but it is a milestone. Raising his kids with the _Resol’nare_ will be a lot more visible now. He takes a breath, and lifts one of the small _buy’ce_. It’s very light in his hand, and he runs his hand over it. He doubts Sathi intended to infuse their work with such care, fierce pride and light, but it still shines in the Force and lightens his heart: his sons will be literally shielded in love. He fights back the emotion, and lets out a breath.

“It’s a wonderful craftmanship, Sathi”, he says. “I’m sure they’ll love them.”

Sathi laughs.

“I had no doubts about that”, she replies. “They always do. It was a delight. Make sure to give me a call when you bring them around, I want to see them!”  
“I will”, he promises, paying his dues and taking the box with the five helmets in it.

His sons are napping when he gets back, and Anakin should be working on his coursework, but he’s sleeping too, sprawled on the couch with a relaxed air on his face. Obi-Wan doesn’t try to wake him up: he’s been going through another growth spurt lately, and needs the extra hours of sleep. His Padawan is going to end up to be a giant, and he sighs lightly. Obi-Wan is by no means small, but somehow, everyone in his life end up outgrowing him. He sets the crate down in the middle of the living-room, and takes on of the helmets again, running his fingers over the gleaming, dark T-visor, tracing the edges where older Mando’ade apply paint, and the sigil painted on the side.

Anakin wakes up to find him meditating without intending to, one of the helmets in his lap, and gasps in delight at the sight.

“That’s what you were doing?” he says excitedly. “Getting them _buy’ce_?”  
“The Armourer was happy to help”, he replies. “I wonder if they’ll still be once they all realize I’m a Jedi.”

Anakin’s expression shutters off, and Obi-Wan wonders at that.

“Anakin? Is something wrong?”  
“I’ve been… having a vision, over and over. I had no idea what it meant until now… Master, it’s a dangerous idea.”  
“I know that.”  
“You might end up killed.”  
“I’ll endeavour not to”, Obi-Wan replies. “I’ve been very careful, Padawan. Do you want to tell me about your vision?”

Anakin bites his lips for a second, and sighs, sitting cross-legged in front of him.

“It won’t be very helpful, Master”, he says. “I only see you brawling with a man, in the midst of _Mando’ade_. I can’t tell who’s winning and who isn’t, but you’re both in a bad shape.”

Obi-Wan nods.

“A brawl is likely to happen, once they get to the truth, but I hope to have a few months still before this becomes a concern.” He smiles. “They’re waking up. Do you want to take care of that?”

Anakin nods and quickly disappears in his brothers’ bedroom, leaving the door ajar after him. Obi-Wan can hear him talk, though he doesn’t make out the words, and then there’s moving as he picks the children up and sets them down on their feet one by one. Tracyn is the first out, rubbing his eyes, blond hair mussed from sleep and yawning. He blinks at Obi-Wan and plasters himself against his side, blaring _warm-comfort-love_ in the Force. Runi follows, his head-tentacles still a bit lethargic, his hand clasped in Naak’s.

_“Nayc!”_  
“Skira, I won’t say it again, _put your pants on_.”

Obi-Wan sighs. Skira is being difficult again. The little boy has a bad temper and Obi-Wan can practically see him now, his arms crossed, feet planted firmly and chin tucked against his chest as he glowers mulishly. Obi-Wan really wouldn’t be surprised to learn this was a Fett trait. He’s also stubborn in ways that would defy imagination, had Obi-Wan not been apprenticed to one Qui-Gon Jinn – and not been just as stubborn himself.

He’s about to relocate his sons and go see what’s going on, when he hears Anakin’s voice shift to a soothing tone, and Skira answers in the same tone, obviously sniffing back tears. Because, as stubborn as Skira is, he’s also very sensitive. It’s not unlike handling a lightsabre, in some ways. He picks up a few words he’s heard Anakin use, and he knows this is _not_ Huttese, but Anakin never volunteered more information about that. It wasn’t difficult to understand he used the slave language he’d grown with, the secret language that no other could know, and Obi-Wan respects that.

He had wondered, at first, why Anakin would share that with his brothers – until he understood that Anakin didn’t think of his brothers as free-born. That he thought them born in slavery, whatever the kind, and saved from their fate, _freed_ , and it breaks his heart to think that, in his household, no one hasn’t known slavery. Not even himself.

So he doesn’t move, doesn’t say a thing, and doesn’t comment on what he’s not supposed to have heard. As far as he’s concerned, he doesn’t know a thing. It is not a big leap to think that there might be more _Mando’ade_ who formerly were slaves than one might think. Taking up another name is one of many ways of freeing oneself, after all.

When Anakin comes out, he has Haat snuggled up against his side, head leaning in the crook of his neck, and he’s holding Skira’s hand. The little boy looks ruffled, his dark curls falling well past his ears, eyes red-rimmed, but he feels more… settled, in the Force. He’s also clothed, so whatever Anakin said, it worked.

Obi-Wan takes a moment to cuddle with them, letting them wake up completely, before he floats their meditation cushions from their bedroom and into the living-room. They pick up each his cushion, settling them on the ground, and look up at him expectantly.

“I have something for you”, he says, signing as he talks – the habit now ingrained enough that soon, he won’t be able to stop himself from signing as he talks. “But before I give them to you, there is one important rule: you are not to take them off when you are outside the Temple. Under any circumstances, unless I or Anakin tell you otherwise.”

They perk up at “outside the Temple”. They’ve never been outside, not when it felt so dangerous.

“This is for your safety, because I love you all very much and I want nothing bad to happen. Do you understand?”

They nod and sign their approval, and for all that they’re young, they understand the concept of _danger_ well. Like slave children do, and it’s not a coincidence, it can’t be. Not with Anakin looking out for them, wanting nothing more than to keep them safe. It hurts, but it is also a blessing.

“Tracyn”, he says, and hands the boy his helmet, who receives it with wide eyes and gleeful joy. “Naak. Haat. Skira. Runi”, and with each name, he gives a helmet.

Tracyn immediately shoves his on, and they hear him laughing, the sound bouncing back in the helmet, while Skira inspects his through the Force and with his fingers. Haat gives his the same intense scrutiny, before cautiously lowering it on his head, wariness blaring through the Force. For a second, Obi-Wan fears he might take it off and never want to put it on again, but then, Anakin reaches for the helmet, tweaking something with the Force, cutting off the external sound pick-up, and relief floods the Force. The _buy’ce_ is, apparently, a blessing. Runi and Naak both take the time to look at their helmets before trying them, giggling as they look at each other.

“How do you feel about going out, then? All comfortable with your _buy’ce?”_  
_“Elek!”_  
“Are you coming?” he asks Anakin, who shakes his head.  
“I have a training session with Master Windu, since we shifted it last time. Next time”, he adds with a crooked grin.  
Obi-Wan nods and grabs Haat’s hand, each of his children holding the other’s hand, and he takes along the hover-stroller, large enough to accommodate the five kiddos. He knows they’re still very young and likely to get tired before they’ve walked very far – it also has the added benefit of closing hermetically, with air filters, the hood being blaster-bolt proof and with an opacity setter. Their excitement is palpable in the Force as they reach the entrance, and Naak, who ends the queue, waves at the on-duty sentinels, who wave back and chuckle.

They look up, staring at the towering buildings, at the speeders passing by, trying to see everything and finding there is just _too much_. Their first outing lasts all but twenty minutes, never straying far from the Temple, and people mostly ignore his helmeted kids, though they do not ignore the Jedi Initiate tunics. Obi-Wan knows he’ll have to find them more common clothes to take them to Little Manda’yaim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _burc’ya_ : friend.  
>  _Kaysh jare_ : he's mad (lit: he's taking a fatal, foolish risk).  
>  _olarom_ : welcome.  
>  _elek_ : yes.


	12. Cin Vhetin - Part 4: Jetii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan can't stop himself from thinking a small "osik". Outwardly, of course, he doesn't say a thing.  
> But he knows this is likely to end in tears and blood.
> 
> And he was doing so good, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO BECAUSE I HAVE NO SELF-CONTROL WHATSOEVER you can have this update earlier (also because I advanced satisfyingly).  
> I want you all to know that when I wrote this chapter I was like "NO NO NO NOT YET DAMMIT OBI-WAN" but. It was the will of the Force?  
> Also, you might want to read this little [post](https://bittodeath.tumblr.com/post/622021116005941248/the-armourer-in-mandalorian-society) I made about the Armourer (all that is said there will eventually be explained within the story, it's just... more compact? It's meta).  
> And last: this chapter is quite heavy in Mando'a, so you might want to check the translations first (I bemoan that I can't make it like my Word doc, where the translations are in the comments just besides the text).  
> EDIT (01/07/2020): Thanks to the code Addleton gave me, the back and forth between text and translation should be a lot easier! I'm only doing it for conversations/whole sentences or if we meet a new word if the meaning isn't obvious, as coding is long.
> 
> *
> 
> CT-3381 / Skira, blind.  
> CT-3382 / Tracyn, deaf, blond, golden eyes.  
> CT-3383/ Runi, Nautolan.  
> CT-3384/ Naak, Togruta.  
> CT-3385/Haat, autistic.

It takes five days before he’s ready to go back there with his sons. He takes a speeder to go down, parking it and helping his sons out of the speeder. The _Vod’ike_ all crowd and gather around him, looking at the passers-by with curiosity and a bit of fear. They cross the entrance to Little Manda’yaim, and there, there are more people wearing _beskar’gam_ , more than they have ever seen.

Of course, that’s when Obi-Wan gets his first kid-related heart-attack. Tracyn squeals at the sight of a _Mando’ad_ with green armour and lets go of his brother’s hand and runs into the crowd. Obi-Wan loses sight of him for a second, his heart beating wildly, and he puts his four remaining sons in the stroller before he starts running. The urge to scream his son’s name his great, even though he knows Tracyn won’t hear him, and in the end he does just that.

“Tracyn! _K’olar ad’ika_! TRACYN!”

“ _Tion ibic gar?_” a voice asks, and he turns, only to find a _Mando’ad_ in beetle-green edged with gold _beskar’gam_ with his son in their arms.

“Tracyn! _Ori’vor’e, kaysh eyayti ni”_, he says, reaching for his son who comes in his arms willingly.

“ _Kih’parjai_ _”_ , the Mando’ad replies. “ _Kaysh Tracyn_ _? Kaysh surbi ner beskar’gam cuyi mesh’la._ _»_

Obi-Wan refrains from rolling his eyes. Sure, the _beskar’gam_ is pretty, and his sons are fascinated with shiny things at the moment. Instead, he smiles and rests his forehead against Tracyn’s _buy’ce_ in a Keldabe kiss before putting him in the stroller with his brothers, who immediately jump on him. The _Mando’ad_ leans aside to peer at them, curiosity in their movements, and coo.

“ _Gar ad’ike? Gar evar’la buir?”_

“ _Elek”_ , Obi-Wan replies.

The _Mando’ad_ nods, signs a quick “ _ret’”_ that his sons mimic, and leaves. He takes a breath, glad that Mandalorians think of children as something just _that_ important. Then, he starts moving again, the stroller following him closely, his sons massed around the edges to peer at people and wave, giggling when _Mando’ade_ wave back. He makes it to _Jatnese_ at about the time he told Sathi he would, and gets his children out of the stroller, holding one hand and keeping an eye on the others. Of course, people turn when he enters, staring, but he waves at Dahl, who grins widely.

“Ben! You brought your little hellions! Come here, let me see them.”

He makes his way through, his children following, and gets them up to sit them on the counter, one by one. Three of them peer at Dahl through their helmets, Skira staring straight ahead as usual, and Haat refusing to look at the _Mando’ad_ directly.

“ _Su’cuy, adiike_ ”, Dahl says, smiling. “ _Ni Dahl._ ”

“ _Mhi Vod’ike_ _!”_ , Naak replies eagerly. “ _Ni Naak, kaysh ner vod Haat_ _._ »

“ _Ner ijaat_”, Dahl greets, holding out his hand.

It’s Tracyn who clasps his extended hand, going for the Mandalorian handshake with his hand clasped to the _Mando’ad_ ’s forearm. As it stands, though, he’s a bit too small and Dahl’s hand easily spans his own entire forearm. Obi-Wan bits back a chuckle at the sight, as do several _Mando’ade_.

When Dahl releases his hold, Tracyn signs his own name in Mando’a and Dahl answers in kind. Runi hides himself in Obi-Wan’s arms, prompting the Jedi to give his name to Dahl, and then turn to Skira. Skira, who simply clambers up on the counter and walks up to the bartender and stands right in front of him.

“ _Gar ne’dush_ _”_ , the child says, and Obi-Wan barely resists the urge to hide his face in his hands at Skira’s brazen remark. “ _Ni guuro gar_.”

“A rousing endorsement”, Dahl snorts. “Ben, I like your children.”

Naak turns to stare at him.

“Ben, _buir?”_

He sends him a shushing signal down their bond, finally realizing that taking his children here might not have been his brightest idea. Children, after all, have no filter.

Dahl chuckles.

“Ah, yes, they’re not yet at that age where they realize that _yes_ , _buir_ has a name just like they do. My kid took to calling me _cyar’ika_ because he thought that was my name, since it was all he heard my _riduur_ calling me.”

Obi-Wan laughs with him, though it’s a bit stuck in his throat. Definitely a bad idea.

“It’s a funny accent they have”, Dahl adds. “Yours is clearly Sundari, but theirs is a mix of Sundari and Northern Mando’a. I’d say Concord Dawn.”

Obi-Wan is officially sweating bullets.

“Ani’vod taught us!” Naak replies proudly.

“Ani’vod?” Dahl asks, clearly entertained.

Thankfully – or not – Sathi arrives then, their presence blaring into the Force. They make a beeline to the kids, who spring up when they sense them coming.

“ _Ba’vodu!”_ Skira squeaks excitedly, and Haat pushes himself out of Obi-Wan arms to open his to Sathi, asking for a hug.

“Oh dear”, Obi-Wan whispers, watching the scene like one would watch a derailing train, with a definite sense of doom, of the inevitable crash.

Sathi’s laugh booms out and they sweep up Haat, hugging him tight against their _beskar’gam_ , Haat laughing and hugging them back and signing excitedly.

“You feel my love?” Sathi repeats, making sure they understood that right. “What… What is that supposed to mean?”

His children have crowded around them, clearly excited to meet Sathi.

“ _O’r Kot, ba’vodu_ _!”_ Naak replies, and Obi-Wan winces.

Well, it didn’t last as long as he’d hoped.

“ _Gar dral, ba’vodu!_ _”_ , Skira adds, nearly throwing himself off the counter and giggling. “ _Gar dral, ni guuro mhi buy’ce! Gar guuro mhi!”_

“ _O’r Kot_ , uh? Ben, something you want to say?” Dahl asks, and Obi-Wan feels his gaze and Sathi’s keenly.

“ _O’r Kot_ ”, Runi repeats, and Obi-Wan can _hear_ the smile in his voice.

He freezes when Runi starts tapping his foot.

“Not now, sweetheart”, he says.

“ _A’buir, mirjhaal_ _!”_ , Runi pleads. “ _Mirjhaal ti ba’vodu!”_

“ _Gar Jetii_ _”_ , Dahl spits.

“ _MHI MANDO’ADE JETII”_ , Skira cries out, stomping his foot. _»_ " _Sa buir, sa Ani’vod, sa ba’vodu Plo!"_

« _Jetii_ », someone spits, and the word is repeated like an insult as the crowd starts standing with murderous intent.

“ _Gedet’ye, ni verbori entye!_ I’m only trying to do the right thing, to do what was asked of me!”

“ _GEV!”_ , Sathi yells, with much more authority than Obi-Wan expected. “Stand down, all of you! There are children present, and I want to know the _Jetii_ ’s motives. _Mando’ade Jetii?_ There hasn’t been any in centuries, and I don’t know whether you’re very brave, or very foolish.”

The general turmoil is enough to upset Haat, though, who starts wailing. Sathi rocks him gently, shushing while glaring at Obi-Wan, but Haat is reaching out for his father and Obi-Wan gives her a look.

“Let me calm him down. He’s feeling everyone’s upset, they all are.”

He sends peace through their bond, but picks Haat from their arms when they hold him out. He’s on alert, knowing there are several weapons trained on him – _Kyr’stad_ , mostly. The others have refrained, unwilling to accidentally hurt the kids. Obi-Wan holds Haat tight, his sons gathered around him, and gently rocks him, but it isn’t enough.

“Shh, listen to me, sweetheart”, he whispers. “Sing with me. _Vod'ike, Ke'shushi ner miite, Gar dral tome, Gar dral solus, Gar solus ti Kot_ …”

Haat gradually stops sniffling, Naak, Skira and Runi singing softly with Obi-Wan to help him calm down.

“I’m sorry for the lies”, Obi-Wan then says to both Sathi and Dahl, “but _this_ is precisely what I was trying to avoid.”

“Are they even your sons?” Dahl asks bitterly. “I heard _Jetii_ don’t have children.”

“They don’t”, Obi-Wan agrees. “But… _gai bal manda_. They are my sons, in everything but blood. My Order almost had a collective fit when I did that, but… it was the right thing to do.”

“Your Order _steals_ children”, a _Mando’ad_ spits.

“We have never taken children that weren’t willingly given by their families, or in immediate danger”, Obi-Wan retorts, annoyed. “Should we leave little ones to starve and die, or be beaten to death for a power they cannot yet control?”

That seems to startle a nearby _Mando’ad_.

“There are people who do _that?”_ they sound distraught and disgusted at the prospect.

“Many more than we’re comfortable with”, Obi-Wan replies. “Our mandate is one of peace.”

A _Mando’ad_ push to the front, and take off their bucket to stare right into his eyes. They’re in their forties, Obi-Wan would guess.

“Of _peace?_ Was Galidraan _peace?”_

Obi-Wan gulps.

“Galidraan was a remarkable fuck-up, that we deeply regret. Our intel was wrong, but we should have checked more thoroughly. It is a debt we cannot ever hope to repay, and we wronged your people there. For that, I’m sorry.” He bows his head. “ _Ni ceta_.”

There’s fury in the _Mando’ad’s_ eyes, and they jab him in the chest.

“You _slaughtered_ my clan, and deprived us all of our _Mand’alor_. Do you think your excuses are enough?!”

“They aren’t”, Obi-Wan replies, trying to keep his cool. “They aren’t. Tell me one thing: would my life repay that debt?”

“No, but it would be a good start”, the _Mando’ad_ growls.

“You said”, Dahl said, talking loudly to be heard, and when the _Mando’ad_ steps back and crosses their arms, he resumes, “you said you were trying to repay a debt. That you were doing what had been asked of you. Explain.”

Obi-Wan licks his lips.

“Last year, an unmanned ship arrived at the Temple. There were five babies aboard, and a letter. It wasn’t signed, but we have ascertained that it was written by your _Mand’alor_ , Jango Fett.” He adjusts his hold on Haat. “It was addressed to me.”

“And what did it say?” Sathi asks, their voice softer now. Concerned.

“Your Order owes me the lives taken at Galidraan. This is the only thing I can do to save the kids from certain death. You have an unusual apprentice in your care, and you know what makes a Mandalorian. I entrust these children to your care, so that they may be safe from the Force, and raised following the Resol’nare as much as you can, being a Jedi.”

“ _Dar’manda_ ”, someone growls. “Whoever wrote that is _dar’manda_.”

“You call the _Mand’alor dar’manda_ when his actions were meant to save the lives of five children?” Obi-Wan retorts. “Coming here, my only objective was to respect what has been asked of me: raising them following the _Resol’nare_.”

“So all your talk about your _riduur_ being one of us, about following his wishes…”

“Jedi Knights are sworn in to the Order. Marriage vows would contradict that.” He quirks his lips. “Unless you want to consider _mhi ba’juri verde_ as enough to get me married to Jango Fett, considering I’m raising children he entrusted to me.”

Someone chokes and laughs, and the atmosphere partially relaxes. The other part only tenses more, and Dahl shuffles awkwardly.

“…Did I say something wrong?”

“I doubt Fett intended it like that”, Sathi replies, “but according to our laws, such a thing would indeed be enough to consider you his _riduur_.”

“Which makes the current situation quite sticky”, Dahl adds.

“Just kill the _Jetii”_ , someone calls. “Problem solved.”

“ _Nu draar_”, Skira calls out, standing tall and proud on the counter and staring straight back at the _Mando’ad_ who talked.

That prompts a chuckle from Dahl.

“ _Kaysh mandokarla_ _._ ”

“ _Sa buir_ _”_ , Naak replies.

“ _Cin vhetin_”, Sathi murmurs. “Yes, it could work. The children were entrusted to you by the _Mand’alor_ , and I won’t stand against that. I doubt he made that decision without meaning it. However, _you_ are not _Mando’ad_. How could your children ever be? If you’re trying to do something, you try to do it _right_.”

Obi-Wan notices how everyone listens to Sathi, and he wonders if maybe, he hasn’t underestimated the Armourer’s role in Mandalorian society.

“That’s why I’m here, amongst people who wish to kill me, with my sons. I’m not Mandalorian, but _you_ are.”

“I am”, they repeat with a nod. “And if you’re so sure you can make _Mando’ade Jetii_ out of your little ones, what’s stopping you from becoming one as well? It is the duty of a parent to show the path to their children.”

People whisper around them, curiosity winning over hostility. Obi-Wan stares back at them, but the helmet gives nothing.

“Would you teach me?” he finally says.

“Would you learn?” they counter. “You know the beginning of the path. Let me show you the end of it.”

This was not what Obi-Wan expected, but it is so much better.

“Part of the Jedi Code is ‘there is no ignorance, there is knowledge’. Teach me, and I will learn.”

“ _Haat, ijaa, haa'it_”, Sathi replies, offering their hand.

Obi-Wan clasps their arm the Mandalorian way, and repeats the words.

“This is the way”, Sathi says. “Is your name really Ben?”

“Obi-Wan”, he smiles. “My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

They nod, and look around.

“Let it be known”, they call loudly, “that from now on, Obi-Wan Kenobi is following the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _K’olar ad’ika!_ : come here, little one!  
>  _Tion ibic gar?_ : is it yours?  
>  _Ori’vor’e, kaysh eyayti ni_ : thanks a lot, he escaped me.  
>  _Kih’parjai_ : no problem.  
>  _Kaysh Tracyn? Kaysh surbi ner beskar’gam cuyi mesh’la._ : He's [called] Tracyn? He said my armour is beautiful.  
>  _Gar ad’ike? Gar evar’la buir?_ : Your children? You're a new parent?  
>  _Elek_ : yes.  
>  _ret'_ : bye.  
>  _Su’cuy, adiike. Ni Dahl._ : hello, children. I'm Dahl.  
>  _Mhi Vod’ike! Ni Naak, kaysh ner vod Haat._ : We are the little brothers! I'm Naak, he's my brother Haat.  
>  _Ner ijaat_ : My honour (ie : pleasure to meet you) (I made this one up).  
>  _Gar ne’dush_ : You're not bad.  
>  _Ni guuro gar_ : I like you.  
>  _O’r Kot, ba’vodu!_ : in the Force, Uncle/Aunt.  
>  _Gar dral, ba’vodu!_ : you're bright, uncle/aunt.  
>  _Gar dral, ni guuro mhi buy’ce! Gar guuro mhi!_ : You’re bright, I like our helmets! You like us!  
>  _A’buir, mirjhaal!_ : But dad, meditation!  
>  _“Mirjhaal ti ba’vodu!”_ : Meditation with uncle/aunt.  
>  _Gar Jetii_ : You're a Jedi.  
>  _MHI MANDO’ADE JETII ! Sa buir, sa Ani’vod, sa ba’vodu Plo!_ : We are Mandalorian Jedi. Like dad, like Ani’vod, like uncle Plo.  
>  _Gedet’ye, ni verbori entye!_ : Please, I’m repaying a debt (lit: I’m buying a debt).  
>  _GEV!_ : Stop it!  
>  _Vod'ike, Ke'shushi ner miite, Gar dral tome, Gar dral solus, Gar solus ti Kot…_ : Little brothers, Listen to my words, You are strong together, You are strong alone, You are one with the Force.  
>  _gai bal manda_ : Adoption ceremony (lit : name and soul).  
>  _Ni ceta_ : sorry (lit: I kneel) grovelling apology - rare.  
>  _dar'manda_ : a state of not being Mandalorian - not an outsider, but one who has lost his heritage, and so his identity and his soul - regarded with absolute dread by most traditionall-minded Mando'ade.  
>  _mhi ba’juri verde_ : we will raise warriors ; last sentence of the marriage vows.  
>  _Nu draar_ : no way / absolutely not.  
>  _Kaysh mandokarla_ : He has the « right stuff » (showing gust and spirit).  
>  _Sa buir_ : like dad.  
>  _Cin vhetin_ : fresh start, clean slate \- lit. white field, virgin snow - term indicating the erasing of a person's past when they become Mandalorian, and that they will only be judged by what they do from that point onwards.  
>  _Haat, ijaa, haa'it_ : Truth, honor, vision \- words used to seal a pact.


	13. Cin Vhetin - Part 5: Haa'it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's something looming over the horizon, and it's nothing good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter, many of you wondered whether the Mando'ad in green and gold _beskar'gam_ was Jango, and I was very confused as to why you would think that, so I've gone back and edited it to beetle-green, because that's what I was thinking about. Also because I was thinking of movie!Jango and his blue _beskar'gam_ , so I didn't understand where that was coming from.  
> Anyway, that has been cleared, but the fact remains that in this story, Jango has a blue-edged _beskar'gam_.
> 
> *
> 
> CT-3381 / Skira, blind.  
> CT-3382 / Tracyn, deaf, blond, golden eyes.  
> CT-3383/ Runi, Nautolan.  
> CT-3384/ Naak, Togruta.  
> CT-3385/Haat, autistic.

The Council is going to kill him. Kill him, and spread the remains. He’s pretty sure of that. The tension in the chambers after he’s explained what happened is so thick you could cut it with a vibroblade. Master Windu is staring at him, his face inscrutable, and he’s pretty sure Master Rancisis is about to have a fit.

“Raising your children as Mandalorian is one thing”, Master Windu eventually says. “Becoming one yourself is another entirely. The Jedi are supposed to be neutral.”  
“I did think about that”, Obi-Wan admits. “But, Masters… we _aren’t_ neutral. Maybe we were just after the Ruusan reformation, but lately, we’ve been at the beck and call of the Senate. We hardly act in favour of worlds on the Outer Rim, even though our duty is to the galaxy, not just the Republic. That the Republic happens to be the largest, most stable political body is merely convenience.”  
“Mmh, true, that is”, Yoda hums, and Mace stares at him, aghast. “Remember differently, I do. Right, Knight Kenobi is.” He looks at Obi-Wan. “Neutral on Mandalorian matters, you will not be considered anymore. If successful, you are, speak for the Order to the Mandalorians, you will. A friendship, we could have.”  
“Master Yoda…”  
“A friendship is important”, Master Koon intervenes. “The unrest in the galaxy is worrying, and the Dark Side has been getting stronger. We all know that in the past, Mandalore allied itself to the Sith. They could do so again. It is in everyone’s best interest that we secure a strong alliance between the Jedi Order, and Mandalore.”  
“It won’t be easy”, Obi-Wan points out. “Following the _Resol’nare_ and adhering to the Super Commando Codex won’t endear me to the New Mandalorians, nor to what remains of Death Watch. That leaves some of the Old Clans, and scattered _Mando’ade_. Without a true _Mand’alor_ , Mandalorians have a tendency to infighting, and ever since Jango Fett went missing after Galidraan, there has been no one to hold the title.”  
“Friendship with one leader won’t be enough, is that what you’re saying?” Master Tiin says.  
“Then, friendship with the people, you must strike”, Master Yaddle says. “Respect them, I do.”

Master Windu looks at his fellow Councillors, fights back a sigh and nods.

“We will recognize you as a Mandalorian, then. You do understand that it will affect what diplomacy missions we send you on?”  
“That won’t be a concern for quite a few years, though, will it?” Obi-Wan points out. “I’m a crèche-master, not a diplomat.”  
“Follow Qui-Gon Jinn’s example, when it suits you, you do”, Master Yoda grumbles. “The matter of your Padawan, there still is. Follow in your footsteps, he does. Instruct your sons, he does. Mandalorian culture, you have been sharing with him.”  
“I have talked about it with him, Masters”, Obi-Wan replies. “Mandalorian culture would consider him in my care as a son, and expect me to train him, but I do not know how my new friends would answer to this. Anakin is very willing and enthusiast at the prospect of becoming Mandalorian himself, though.”  
“Observe, we will”, Yoda concludes. “One last question, I have, about your Padawan. Chancellor Palpatine, he still meets?”  
“Yes”, Obi-Wan replies. “Though I have been watching this closely. Anakin doesn’t seem to want these meetings as much as before, but he feels like he must keep on the Chancellor’s good side. Apparently, the Chancellor told him several times that my decision to become a crèche-master is holding him back. We all know he is ready to make Senior Padawan, earlier than I thought it would be, admittedly, and I would agree to send him on missions with another master for the sake of his education. We also all know he finds peace and purpose with his brothers. Anakin has been… uneasy with the Chancellor’s comments.”  
“It is true that your Padawan needs more field-training”, Master Windu says. “He has greatly improved, but short diplomatic missions on Coruscant won’t ready him for the field. However, I am pleased with his progress as a Jedi. I will admit I thought it would be nigh-impossible, but he will be a great asset. Do you think we should take measures to restrict the Chancellor’s access to your Padawan?”

Obi-Wan thinks for a moment.

“No overtly”, he finally says.  
“To be ready to give your Padawan a way out, you want us to be”, Master Yaddle says, blinking slowly. “Do that, we can.”  
“Thank you, Masters”, Obi-Wan says with a bow.

He receives a message from Sathi two days later: the Armourer wants to assess him, his skills and his knowledge, to see what they have to teach him. Anakin has a meeting with the Chancellor, and declined the offer to suddenly be unavailable for it, in favour of taking Haat with him. He has said, of course, that he has responsibilities to his younger brothers, but he feels like the Chancellor sees them as a distraction – and Anakin is determined to prove him wrong. He deeply respects and cares for the older man, but his dismissal of Obi-Wan and his chosen career have raised his hackles, and he is no longer so comfortable.

Obi-Wan leaves Anakin at the Senate Dome, before going down to Little Manda’yaim. This time, he has his lightsabre on him, though he still forewent his robes for something less conspicuous. People stare – obviously the word has been going around. He reaches Sathi’s workshop without problem, though, and finds the Armourer waiting for him. They lead him farther in the city, to a large, empty training salle.

“Where are all the people?” he asks.  
“Not here”, Sathi replies. “I wanted to talk with you, without a crowd listening to us.” They start undoing their _beskar’gam_ , setting it carefully on a bench, but don’t remove their helmet. “Tell be about you, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Where did you learn Mando’a?”  
“During the Mandalorian Civil War”, Obi-Wan replies, setting aside his jacket and making sure he’s comfortable. “My Master and I were assigned to Duchess Satine’s protection. She taught me.”  
“And yet she forbade it when she took power”, Sathi replies with a half-amused snort. “That would be where your accent comes from. How come your _ad’ike_ ’s accent is so mixed up, though?”  
“I’ve been teaching Mando’a to my Padawan- my… student”, Obi-Wan replies. “Ever since I got my children. He’s been having a lot of visions, and picked up his accent from there. In turn, my children got theirs from him too.”  
“You have a sixth child in your care?” Sathi asks, wary, stretching themselves, and Obi-Wan does the same.  
“Anakin is hardly a child anymore, he has turned sixteen recently”, he says. “But, yes. He has shown a lot of enthusiasm.”  
“Sixteen, and he is still your student? Jedi must become independent late.”  
“Later than _Mando’ade_ , that’s for sure”, Obi-Wan replies, relaxing as he stretches. “We are only Knighted when we show we can follow the Code, and take decisions by ourselves. Mastering the Force takes time, and there is much to learn.”  
“Has he been in your care for long, then?” Sathi asks, getting into a ready stance. “No weapons, and no use of the Force. This is a hand-to-hand combat, until first blood or yield. I trust you know how to fight without a ‘sabre?”  
“I would be a poor Jedi if I didn’t know that much”, Obi-Wan smirks, lowering his gravity centre and focusing on the upcoming fight. “Seven years”, he then adds. “But our circumstances are a bit… exceptional. Initiates cannot be taken as Padawans before they turn ten, usually. Anakin arrived at the Temple very late, and wouldn’t have been taken in if I hadn’t taken him as my Apprentice.”  
“Late? He would have been a child, barely starting his Mandalorian training”, Sathi retorts. “How can that be late?”  
“The path of the Jedi is a difficult one, but easier if we are trained from a young age. Training older children is rarely successful, as the demands are seen as too high.”  
“What about you, then?” Sathi asks, and lunges.  
“A Jedi Master brought me into the Temple when I was still a new-born”, he replies. “A woman, whom we assume was my mother, gave me to him and disappeared. It is quite common”, he adds at Sathi’s surprised feeling in the Force, while avoiding their punch. “I was raised there. I was taken as a Padawan when I was thirteen. My Master trained me until his death, upon which I was Knighted. I was twenty-four.”  
“You were close to your Master”, Sathi says, and it is not a question, as they jab for his ribs.  
“Very”, Obi-Wan replies quietly. “He was like a father to me.”

He dodges a powerful kick, and delivers one of his own, which glances Sathi’s hip.

“Jedi are strong. Did he die of old age?” Sathi asks, and Obi-Wan tastes something foul as the memories rise.  
“No. He was killed in a duel. I could do nothing but watch.”

He breathes past his anger, finding that Sathi has been going easy on him and is increasingly making him fight harder. Assessing him, as they said.

“There are few who are strong enough to kill a Jedi”, Sathi hums. “The _Mando’ade_ are among those few, of course.”  
“My Master was a skilled swordsman, but he wasn’t a young man. He didn’t wait for me, even as we fought a very powerful, young enemy.”  
“You avenged him.”  
“…Yes”, Obi-Wan admits. “I was blind with rage, and had I not done it, I would have died too. The Sith are our natural enemies, and it is our mandate to end them.”  
“The Sith are dead, though”, Sathi says, and he nearly finds himself tumbling to the ground, “are they not?”  
“We thought so”, Obi-Wan replies. “He was the first we saw in thousands of years. A threat we thought extinct.”

Sathi holds up a hand, pausing.

“But you killed them. The Sith who killed your Master.”  
“Yes”, Obi-Wan replies, slightly confused.  
“Then there are no Sith anymore.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head at that.

“The Sith follow the Rule of Two. There is always a Master, and an Apprentice, and we don’t know which one I killed.”

Sathi nods, and motions him to resume.

“Will your student follow in your footsteps?” they ask, swiping at his feet.  
“He would certainly like to”, Obi-Wan says. “He’s taken to Mando’a and the _Resol’nare_ with ease and will.”  
“Then he will be taught too”, Sathi asserts, and sends him sprawling with a harsh blow to the chest, using only the heel of their hand.

It’s hard to breathe, and he’s quite certain he’ll be bruised. Sathi ups the ante constantly and, when it comes to hand-to-hand combat without the assistance of the Force, he knows when he’s outclassed. Sathi doesn’t seem to be done with him, though.  
“You’re good”, they say.  
“But not enough”, he says with a grimace.  
“ _A’nu’luubid_”, they repeat, and he has the distinct feeling they’re smiling. “Not to worry. With some training, you’ll be _jatnese be te jatnese_.”

Anakin arrives to the Senate dome, holding Haat’s hand in his. His little brother has sealed off most of the sounds through his helmet, but his attention through the Force is clear and bright. The building and the people milling about fascinate him, his mind brushing against them curiously. They make it to Chancellor Palpatine’s office without any problem other than stares, the Senators long accustomed to seeing Anakin in these corridors. Haat attracts some attention from the most strong-minded, but his desire not to be noticed bleeds into the Force and people look over him without a second thought.

Anakin knocks at the door and the Chancellor’s voice invites him in. He enters and bows respectfully, Haat imitating him clumsily.

“Anakin, my dear boy! And… oh, this must be one of your brothers! Are the Jedi making you babysit them?”  
“This is Haat”, Anakin replies, “my brother. I’m taking him for a walk outside after out meeting.”

Haat signs a bashful “well met, Chancellor”, and promptly hides behind Anakin’s leg, staring at the Chancellor. Palpatine directs Anakin to a comfortably plush chair, leaving Haat to the slightly lumpy and harder one without so much of a glance. He has too much practice and training to let his irritation with the boy show, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be petty. After all, the children have been frustrating his plans to corrupt Anakin, taking a lot of the Padawan’s time and mental space.

Anakin doesn’t even realize what’s happening, as he had never intended for Haat to sit apart from him. He knows his brother and how difficult this is for him. Obi-Wan and him are carefully getting him used to the outside world, wary of his limits, and so far they have been successful. Haat manages better in his brothers’ company, though, and they’re currently at the Temple. So, Anakin picks him up and sets him in his lap, one arm looped around his waist while Haat, presumably, observes _everything_ around him.

The meeting is shorter than what Anakin expected, and he’s not exactly surprised: Chancellor Palpatine couldn’t exactly bad-mouth his brothers when one of them was sitting _right there_. With an adult, it might be a show of guts, to say what you think truthfully and at their face, but with a child, it would simply be mean and really unworthy of a mature adult. Anakin is also slightly relieved that the Chancellor lets them go sooner, because Haat has been growing increasingly uncomfortable as time passed, sending a feeling of cold and fear to Anakin through their bond.

He wouldn’t be surprised if Haat picked up on Palpatine’s dislike of him – Anakin would think he doesn’t like children, if he hadn’t befriended the man as a child himself. Honestly, the older he gets, the more he wonders what pushed the man to want to mentor him. Sure, he flew a ship in battle and destroyed a controlling centre during the Battle of Naboo, but that shouldn’t have been enough to get the _Chancellor’s_ attention. And he knows one thing: if an adult paid this kind of attention to his brothers, he would be damn wary. His mother has always warned him that some people’s friendship came with a price. As a slave, he couldn’t afford innocence – the price was death – and he wonders, now, why this didn’t raise any red flag in him?

He doubts the Chancellor was ill-intentioned, otherwise he would have acted before, and he never did or said anything untoward. No, he has no reason to doubt him. He’s being silly, that’s all. Why would he even doubt someone who has been his friend for so long?

_“Me'vaar ti gar, verd’ika?”_, he asks Haat, who has his arms wrapped around his neck.  
“Tired”, Haat signs after he’s pulled back enough to free his hands. “I want to go home.”  
“Alright, we’re going, then”, Anakin says with a nod.

Obi-Wan knows he’s sleeping. He also knows that this is not a regular dream – visions have a… flavour to them, a something absolutely unique that lets you know what you’re seeing may come to pass. Or not. Visions are finicky like that, and ‘always in motion, the future is’. Still, Obi-Wan knows this is a vision.

He’s laying in bed, dozing off, when the door bursts open and he very nearly shoots out of the bed.

“ _Buir_!” comes the indignant cry, and he recognizes Runi’s voice, “Rex put paint in my boots _again_ ”, and Obi-Wan sighs.  
“Runi”, he groans, “what have I told you about barging in a bedroom uninvited?”

He doesn’t need to look to know Runi is blushing a deeper red than usual, lekkus darkening with embarrassment. There a deep chuckle by Obi-Wan’s side, and a big, strong, warm arm drapes itself around his waist.

“Runi!” Rex calls, and skids at a stop at the bedroom’s open door, turning bright red. “Oh Force, I’m sorry!”

Obi-Wan muffles his laughter into his pillow and opens his eyes to watch his lover, who is staring back at him with amusement in his own eyes. The next instant, he groans in pain and dismay as a small knee collides with the small of his back.

“Kiros”, he grumbles.  
“ _Buir_!” comes the enthusiastic answer.

His lover chuckles and reaches out to grab the little hellion.

“ _K’olar, ad’ika_.”  
“Why did no one tell me it was jump on Obi-Wan day?” he hears Anakin say, and his eyes shoot open in fright.  
“Anakin don’t-”

Five minutes later, his bed is invaded by no less than three Jedi Knights, two troopers, and three younglings. It is definitely a bit _too_ crowded, but he smiles and laughs, ruffling hair.

“You seem to be in trouble, _buire_ ”, the newcomer says with an amused drawl to his voice.  
“Cody”, he replies. “ _Help_.”

Cody’s grin widens.

“Nope”, he replies, and Obi-Wan squawks in indignation.

Obi-Wan wakes up then, and there is a stirring in the Force that drags him to Anakin’s room. The teen is tossing and turning in fitful sleep, repeating _no_ like a mantra. Obi-Wan grabs his shoulder to wake him up, forgetting for a sleep-addled second that physical contact strengthens a bond. Before he can do anything, he’s sucked into Anakin’s dreams.

A teen boy is staring back at him, standing on trembling legs and clad in _beskar’gam_. He would recognize Tracyn anywhere. He is older, a blond Padawan braid trailing to his shoulder, his honey-golden eyes smudged dark and hazy with pain. His arm is locked in a parry, lightsabre blazing far brighter and more powerful than a Padawan’s ‘sabre should be. His hand loosens over the lightsabre, which falls from his hand and extinguished in doing so, and Tracyn falls to his knees.

There’s blood seeping from the under-armour body-glove.

“COMMANDER!” someone screams.  
“ _VOD’IKA_ ”, another voice, eerily similar, screams, and as the voice’s owner steps into view, Anakin wrenches out of his prophetic dream, taking Obi-Wan with him.

Anakin is hyper-ventilating and Obi-Wan doesn’t let the panic take a hold on him. Instead, he places a hand over Anakin’s chest and brings his Padawan’s hand to his own chest.

“Breathe with me”, he says, and takes deep breaths, releasing them slowly, and slowly, Anakin calms down.

He wipes a hand down his sweat-drenched face, still shaking but no longer panicking.

“Are all your visions like this?” Obi-Wan asks softly.  
“Similar enough”, Anakin replies, his voice hoarse. “Something’s coming, Master. Something terrible.”

Obi-Wan wraps him in a hug and sends him peace through their bond, but he doesn’t say anything.

He feels, too, the echo of something sinister in the Force.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Haa'it_ : vision.  
>  _A’nu’luubid_ : but not enough.  
>  _jatnese be te jatnese_ : the best of the best.  
>  _“Me'vaar ti gar, verd’ika?”_ : How are you, little soldier? (Lit: what's new with you?)  
>  _K’olar, ad’ika_ : Come here, little one.


	14. Cin Vhetin - Part 6: Ori'n'ijaat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan presents Anakin to the Mando'ade, and it... doesn't go as expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CT-3381 / Skira, blind.  
> CT-3382 / Tracyn, deaf, blond, golden eyes.  
> CT-3383/ Runi, Nautolan.  
> CT-3384/ Naak, Togruta.  
> CT-3385/Haat, autistic.

The next time Obi-Wan goes to Little Manda’yaim, it is not for his training, but to present his Padawan to the _Mando’ade_. Anakin has done civilian garb, like him, but has kept his lightsabre on his belt and his braid down. Sathi and Dahl are there, of course, but so are many _Mando’ade_ – way more than Obi-Wan expected. Word obviously got around, and he feels Anakin’s nervousness spiking through their bond. He sends him reassurances and trust, and feels him relax slightly.

“ _Su cuy’gar_ ”, Anakin greets. “ _Ni hibir be Obi-Wan, Anakin Skywalker._”  
“Well, at least this one’s got a real Mando’a accent”, someone says, and Anakin blushes.

Obi-Wan hides his smirk and struggles not to reach up and ruffle his hair, the teen standing around awkwardly and not really knowing what to do. He has noticed a few _Mando’ade_ who twitched at his name, likely because they know what a slave name sounds like. Dahl motions him to come closer, and Anakin steps forward, staring right back at the man, unflinching.

“You are family to Obi-Wan, and we were told you want to walk the way. It is not an easy life, but if you can make it, you will find a people in us.”  
“I want to follow the way”, Anakin replies, and the only time Obi-Wan has heard him this sure of himself was when he said he wanted the kids as his brothers.

Dahl nodded, and stepped down, leaving the place to Sathi.

“It is usually a _buir’s_ duty and privilege to train their children. However, Obi-Wan is only starting his journey. You cannot teach what you do not know. Who amongst you is willing to commit, and teach Anakin as though he were their own?”

Obi-Wan surmises that they spoke of this before-hand, and it is only performative, so everyone knows what’s going on, as Dahl answers and no one challenges him – a Death Watch aligned _Mando’ad_ does try, but they’re quickly silenced and if it hadn’t been for the Force, Anakin wouldn’t have noticed anything.

Dahl takes him a bit farther, so they can get to know each other, and it’s obvious how delighted Anakin is. Sathi turns to Obi-Wan, and crosses their arm. Even through the _buy’ce_ , he can feel their judgment.

“You did not tell me your _ad_ was a slave.”  
“How is it relevant? I imagine there are freed slaves amongst the _Mando’ade_.”  
“There are”, Sathi nods. “And they take on a new name when they join a clan. This is _Cin Vhetin_.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head.

“For a long time, his name was all he had. It is his mother’s name. You are welcome to explain that to him, but he is likely to feel offended if you suggest taking his name away.”  
“He may keep it”, Sathi said, shaking their head. “Only his Clan and his House have importance here, and as things are now, he has none.”

They hand him a drink, and he takes it before glancing at them.

“I’m slightly confused. You never seem to take off your _buy’ce_ , is there a reason for that, or is it a personal choice?”  
“It is my Clan’s way. From the moment we put on our _buy’ce_ , no one but our _riduur_ and children will see our faces. Our faces matter not, our armours do.” They looked at him. “Other Clans do differently. Some only put their _buy’ce_ on in battle, other only take it off when they feel safe. Clan Mev as a tradition of putting on their _buy’ce_ when they take a contract and only taking it off before someone when the mission is completed.”

Obi-Wan nods his understanding and takes a sip of his drink, glancing at Anakin and Dahl: the friendly demeanour of the _Mando’ad_ has put Anakin at ease, and Obi-Wan feels a ringing certainty in the Force that this is a good thing.

“Your _ad_ wears the desert in his bones”, a woman says to him, as she leans against the counter. “It is obvious, even without knowing his name. The _Skywalker_.”  
“You can see it?” Obi-Wan asks, slightly surprised.

But then, Anakin grew up on Tatooine. It has influenced him, more than most Jedi are by their birth culture.

“Takes one to know one”, she replies. “I was born on Jakku”, she explains. “We desert-folks recognize each other. There’s something about us… an ancient call, I’d say.”

Obi-Wan lifts and eyebrow, and reaches out through the Force. He meets jagged and awkward shields, that are nonetheless strong, and a Force-presence tightly coiled and leashed, but powerful. He can’t stop himself from smiling.

“Dear, you’re Force-sensitive. That’s how you knew.”

She scrunches her nose and looks at him.

“I’ve always had powers, and they brought me nothing but problems, _Jetii_. You should accept that you don’t know everything. I wasn’t lying: the Force, if that’s what it is, helps, but there _is_ something about desert people.”

Obi-Wan opens his mouth to protest. _There is no ignorance, there is knowledge_. Who is he to say that she is wrong? Not him. He doesn’t have that right. Instead, he nods.

“I’ll take your word on that, then”, he says, raising his glass, and the woman grins, sharp and dangerous.  
“And you, _Jetii?_ Where are you from?” a Death Watch _Mando’ad_ asks, and Obi-Wan feels them leering at him through their visor. “Some miserable little planet, I’d guess. Or a Corellian womp-rat. You’re not _Mando’ad_ material.”  
“Tor, that’s enough!” Dahl warns. “I’ve told you before: you take your problems outside.”  
“It’s alright”, Obi-Wan assures him, laying a peaceful palm on his forearm before he turns to the man. “Does it really matter, where I was born and where I grew up? I thought the whole point of _Cin Vhetin_ was to start another life?”

Tor, since that seems to be his name, snorts, gets up and leaves.

“He had a point in that we’re all quite curious about you”, another _Mando’ad_ says, but he doesn’t see whom. He feels them, though, a bit farther. “Your name doesn’t ring of any planet we know, unless you were born here, on Coruscant. And your hair is quite unusual. There aren’t many places with people who have hair like you.”

Obi-Wan shrugs: he was raised in the Temple, so it had very little importance, especially since, as he had learnt when he got his children, his name doesn’t attach him to the family who birthed him, but to the Jedi: a name given to him by his Order, when he had none.

“I didn’t have a name when the Order took me in”, he replies. “So the Jedi gave me one. I was told, however, that according to the woman who gave me to the Jedi, I was born on Stewjon.”

Everything stills, and heads turn to look at him. Death Watch especially seems to look at him in a new light, and he has a feeling he just said something he maybe shouldn’t have – though he doesn’t see how any of this is relevant.

“You’re Stewjoni?” someone finally says, sounding incredulous.  
“As far as I know”, he replies cautiously.

There’s the sound of a chair scraping against the ground as someone stands up, and the Force warns him to keep still as a _Mando’ad_ grabs his chin and observes him attentively. He almost shivers when he notices they are Death Watch. Their helmet is off, and the elderly man staring at him sneers ostensibly.

“There are very few Force-sensitive Stewjoni”, the man says. “In the last fifty years, there have only been three, and only one who can be around your age.” He lets him go, something akin to fear mixed with disgust in his eyes. “You can only be _Ori’n’ijaat_.”

The _Mando’ade_ around them bristle, and he can feel Anakin tense, ready for action.

“I have no idea what you are talking about”, Obi-Wan slowly declares. “As I said, I don’t see how this matters.”  
“It matters”, Sathi replies quietly. “Let Tagr talk.”

Obi-Wan feels the anger swell in this Tagr standing a bit too close to him, and distinctly hears the light crackle of his gloves when he clenches his fists. Then Tagr is stabbing a finger into his chest.

“It is your fault your mother was sent away in shame. She was one of the best of us, and because _you_ were born, it was known she could birth Force-sensitive. You shamed us _all, Ori’n’ijaat_.”

Obi-Wan jerks away just before Tagr can spit in his face and leave the place, followed by a group of Death Watch who are all swirling with fear, pain and absolute rage, leaving Obi-Wan even more confused. Anakin is by his side in an instant, worry slipping through their bond. He sends him reassurance, and turns to Sathi.

From most of the _Mando’ade_ , he feels wariness mixed with fierce determination. From Sathi, however, he feels awe and pride. They know what is going on – the rest of the _Mando’ade_ feel like people confronted to a legend. The tension climbs until someone breaks.

“The legends are true, then?”

The question is addressed to Sathi, who is still staring at him, like they’re searching for something on his face.

“Some are”, they finally answer. “If you are who Tagr says you are, then I have much to tell you.”  
“That’s not a nickname I’m particularly fond of”, Obi-Wan grimaces.  
“Stewjoni always end up with Death Watch and they make them pass for Tooka kittens”, someone grumbles. “Who’s to say he’s different?”  
“I do”, Sathi declares. “If Obi-Wan is Stewjoni he still wasn’t raised there. That makes all the difference.” They look at Obi-Wan. “Stewjoni will shun you, but most of them are _Kyr’stad_ , when they leave their planet. We will not.”  
“I have no idea what’s happening”, Obi-Wan admits. “Why does it matter?”  
“It matters because of what could be in your blood”, Sathi replies. “If Tagr is right, then there is more to you than the Force.”  
“That sounds ominous”, Anakin mutters, and Obi-Wan can’t help but agree.  
“Laan, you know what to fetch”, Dahl calls. “Armourer”, he adds, dipping his head in a strange display of respect, “I think it is time for a story.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Su cuy’gar_ : hello.  
>  _Ni hibir be Obi-Wan, Anakin Skywalker._ : I'm Obi-Wan's student, Anakin Skywalker.  
> em>Cin Vhetin: fresh start.  
>  _Ori’n’ijaat_ : [the] Great Shame (nb: I made up "shame", with the negative n' and honour).
> 
> So! I tried to draw the Vod'ike. They're slightly older then than they currently are in the fic (they're around two years old, so looking roughly four).  
>   
> I messed up a bit the colouring (I always mess up colouring arg) so both B&W and coloured versions are posted [here](https://bittodeath.tumblr.com/post/623200204572819456/so-i-tried-to-draw-the-vodike-here-are-the-bw)


	15. Cin Vhetin - Part 7: Ad be Taung

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan learns a few truths about himself, and makes new friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm gonna clarify something before we start: Obi-Wan wasn't abandonned by Death Watch, but by the Stewjoni. All Stewjoni are Death Watch, but not all Death Watch are Stewjoni. If things are still unclear by the end of this chapter, don't hesitate to shoo me a message and I'll do my best to make everything clear.
> 
> *
> 
> CT-3381 / Skira, blind.  
> CT-3382 / Tracyn, deaf, blond, golden eyes.  
> CT-3383/ Runi, Nautolan.  
> CT-3384/ Naak, Togruta.  
> CT-3385/Haat, autistic.

Some _Mando’ade_ , but very few, leave the cantina at that. Once they’re gone, others close the doors and blind the windows, gathering around Obi-Wan and Sathi. Anakin has sat back down next to Dahl, who is explaining something in a hushed voice.

“The tale of Stewjon”, Sathi starts, and everyone falls silent, “starts during the glory of the Mandalorian Empire. The Taungs had settled on that world, and folded the human population into their society. Stewjoni had the particularity of having fair skin and fair hair, as their planet was quite cold, if fruitful. As the Taung presence diminished and they knew their days were counted, they settled more and more on Stewjon, making it the last Taung stronghold. Came the Wars, and Mandalore allied itself to the Sith. As the Taungs placed a force-field around Stewjon, to prevent anything from coming close to the planet, the Sith weaved a Force-web of Darkness around Stewjon: only those few who would leave Stewjon would remember what, exactly, was on the planet. It would also deter anyone from coming close, or from researching farther into Stewjon, making them forget it in the first place. The Mandalorian Empire fell, and so did the Sith, but their work remained, and Stewjon was unattainable, forever locked in the past, thinking itself part of an Empire that existed no more. Skilled warriors seeking glory for themselves and the Empire would leave the planet, though they weren’t many, knowing they could never go back to the clans and families they left behind. The last of the Taungs have now disappeared from the galaxy at large, but they remain on Stewjon, hidden and lost to most. They elected a _Mand’alor_ for themselves, beholden to the Empire.”

They stand up, and start walking the length of the cantina.

“Taungs and Stewjoni happened to have compatible biology”, they resumed. “And from these unions, children were born. As Taungs cannot be Force-sensitive, and Stewjoni rarely had that hability, those children were majorly not. Sometimes, though…” They turned. “Sometimes, the Force would manifest itself in a child. And for a people whose only dealings with Force-sensitives have been with the Sith and the Jedi Order, such a thing is a threat. Those children are sent away with the leaving warriors, uncaring of their fate, or with the Stewjoni parent who was proven to have given the ability, if it was undeniable. Most remained with the _Mando’ade_ , and many were lost to that power. Some, rarer, were found by the Jedi Order and brought into its fold, never knowing their true origins and heritage.”

Now, gazes were turning from them to Obi-Wan, who resisted the urge to squirm uncomfortably.

“Around thirty years ago, word came to the Stewjoni warriors in our midst: that a child had come to their Taung _Mand’alor_ and his Stewjoni _riduur_ , one of the fiercest warriors they had known in centuries. That they had rejoiced for a few hours, before the child showed their power in the Force. The fault, it seemed, laid with the Stewjoni parent. _Ori’n’ijaat_ , they called this child, and sent them away with their _buir_. Neither were seen again, though it is said the _buir_ buried their armour and renounced our ways to become _dar’manda_.”

They turn completely to Obi-Wan, who had sat down heavily, overwhelmed.

“This would be an irrelevant legend, if children of direct Taung descent didn’t have some specificities that require forewarning. To be more precise, a brand of protectiveness over their _ade_ derived from the Taung’s own, that even Force-users used to be wary of.” They pause, and Obi-Wan remotely appreciates the dramatic effect. “ _Taung be A’den_. Taung’s Wrath. It is similar, in effects, to a particularly strong surge of adrenaline, as it increases strength. Unlike adrenaline, though, it tends to incite a murderous rage. Rumours speak of other effects, but I haven’t been able to confirm them.”

Laan chooses that moment to come back – or maybe they were waiting in the shadows for the right moment, who knows – and they hold out a blood-analyser to Sathi.

“Taung parentage is visible to those who know what to search for, but most have forgotten what is looks like.” They step up to Obi-Wan. “Are you willing to go through the test?”  
“Go on”, he says, waving wearily. “If there’s a risk I might go on a rampant murder streak, I’d like to know it.”  
“Just like in the legends!” a _Mando’ad_ says excitedly, and if their voice hadn’t betrayed their age, the sentence itself would have.

The doors are opened again, Sathi pricks his finger, and runs the analyser. There’s a few minutes of waiting with bated breath, and the device beeps, its results on Sathi’s HUD. Sathi turns it off and gives it back to Laan.

“ _Ad be Taung_”, they say to Obi-Wan, “ _su’cuyi gar_.”

Obi-Wan snorts, and shakes his head. It all sounds completely crazy. One thing is certain, though: he definitely underestimated the Armourer’s role and status.

“There’s something I don’t understand”, Anakin says, and Obi-Wan braces himself. “How could _ba’juad_ be half-Taung, and still look so human? Shouldn’t he have… I don’t know, something Taungs have?” He looks at Obi-Wan askance. “Have you been hiding something, Master?”

Obi-Wan snorts and chuckles.

“No, I assure you, I thought myself perfectly Human. This is news to me.”  
“You wouldn’t be the first one to look Human and yet have a Taung parent”, Dahl says. “Mostly though, I think it’s because of the Force. Taungs cannot be Force-sensitives, and yet you are, so I wouldn’t be surprised if it caused the Stewjoni genes to present instead of the Taung ones.”  
“Seems to me that it’s a good sign”, someone adds. “That the first _Jetii Mando'ade_ in centuries is part-Taung. It all links back.”  
“There is no such thing as coincidence”, Anakin whispers, Obi-Wan’s lessons having clearly marked him. “Do you remember, how the Force rang when you adopted my brothers?”  
“I could never forget it”, Obi-Wan replies with a smile. “What’s your point?”  
“That this is the Force’s will. To reunite its children. _Mando’ade_ , and Jedi.”

Once most everyone has left, Obi-Wan turns to Sathi.

“It seems dangerous, to leave such knowledge be known to everyone.”

Sathi shake their head.

“They won’t remember. Only the Stewjoni, and some rare lucky ones, will be able to remember that this legend is real, and that you are linked to it. That is both the blessing and the curse the Sith bestowed to Stewjon.”  
“You remember, though”, he points out.  
“I am the Armourer”, they reply, like it is all the answer he needs. “You are Stewjoni.”

He looks aside, at Dahl and Anakin who are talking in hushed voices, grinning widely and gesturing just as much.

“What about Dahl? And Anakin?”  
“Dahl is amongst the gifted ones, the few who remember. Anakin…” They peer at him through their visor. “Only time will tell, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he was able to remember.” They turn back to him. “You may tell the legend to your Order if you wish, but it shouldn’t be written down, and you are now warned: they will not remember.”

He bows his head respectfully.

“I will take your advice to heart.”

The next time Obi-Wan comes to the _Jatnese_ , he’s accompanying Anakin, who has his first training session with Dahl. He has Skira and Naak with him; the other three have remained at the Temple. Runi is with Master Fisto, who is teaching him special aquatic katas. Tracyn is with Shaak Ti, and Haat had co-opted Master Yoda’s meditating session when he last saw him, though he also knows _ba’vodu_ Plo was keeping an eye on the situation. Once Anakin is with Dahl, he goes out to the park a _buir_ told him to meet them so his children could play with fellow _Mando’ade_ instead of only making friends within the Temple. He isn’t sure how this is going to turn out, given the rate at which his kids grow up. Maintaining childhood friendships might prove to be difficult.

“ _Su’cuy_ ”, he greets them, and his sons echo the salutation. “This is Skira and Naak”, he adds, presenting his sons. “Go on, go play”, he urges them on, and they’re not long to join into the fray.

The other parents present in the park – all _Mando’ade_ , and clearly not worried about their children’s antics – watch them for a moment, until one of them turns to him.

“Skira seems to handle himself pretty well, for a blind child. He runs just as though he can see.”  
“He’s Force-sensitive”, Obi-Wan reminds her. “He’s been using this connection to map out the world around him since he was a new-born.”

There’s a silence, and then someone else settles beside him, watching the children with some trepidation. Obi-Wan waits for them to talk.

“My son has it. The Force, or whatever. I’m scared I might lose him to something I cannot fight”, they finally say. “Is there something I can do?”  
“Raising Force-sensitives without being one is complicated”, Obi-Wan admits. “But the Jedi Corps have a training program for adult Force-sensitives, and children who were not given to the Temple for a reason or another. They don’t teach them how to use the Force, but how to be safe from it. Shielding, for example, or how to handle visions if they have them. Basic control, so they don’t lose themselves to the Force or risk catastrophes at the slightest emotion.”

They scrunch their nose.

“The history between the Jedi and the _Mando’ade_ doesn’t fill me with trust. You’re going to be one of us, so it’s different.”

Obi-Wan can’t stop his lips from quirking up.

“To be fair, the Jedi in the Corps are likely to freak out and think you’re out to enact a violent vengeance on them if you go there in full _beskar’gam_ without advance warning.” He looks at them. “I will talk to the Council, and see what can be done.”

They look up at him in surprise.

“Your Council? Why would they help us?”  
“Several reasons. As a debt for Galidraan; because we would never let anyone struggle if it is in our power to help; and because we are hoping to establish an alliance, or at least a truce, with the _Mando’ade_.”  
“I was wondering about that”, another _Mando’ade_ asks. “Wouldn’t they kick you out? Trying to be one of us, having children?”

Obi-Wan pauses to consider his answer.

“Ever since I got my children, the Order has been changing. It might not be visible to an outsider, but the inner workings of the Temple have changed for the better. We are revising rules such as the one on Attachment, which allows me to have my children. The _Mando’ade_ decision to give me a chance to join you as a fellow Mandalorian has pushed the Council to consider me as some sort of Ambassador between our people. This also means that my neutrality as a diplomat has been compromised as far as Mandalore is concerned, and so that I won’t be assigned a mission involving Mandalore or the _Mando’ade_. Well, when, or if, I resume diplomatic duty, that is.”

His declaration is welcomed by silence, until someone else asks:

“You’re a diplomat?”  
“That is what I was trained as, yes”, he replies with a nod. “My Master and I were usually sent on last resort missions, which means I saw more violent conflicts than most other diplomats, though. I had started Anakin’s training as such too, but then, my kids came into the picture and I had to change my plans. Nowadays, I have a crèche-master status.”

One of them side-eyes him, and grins.

“That’s your way of saying you’re skilled with a lightsabre, isn’t it?”

Obi-Wan shrugs.

“I’m good enough”, he replies wryly.  
“I’ve always been curious to see a true _jetii’kad_. Rumour is that you build them yourself, is it true?”  
“Yes”, Obi-Wan says with a nod. “As younglings, we use standard training sabres, which are not even hot enough to burn. As Initiates, we build our lightsabre. Most Jedi keep it their whole lives, though they update it as needed.”  
“Their whole life?” they say, impressed and curious. “I understand that they’re hard to come by, but still. Especially if you get it young.”

Obi-Wan turns to face them fully.

“A Jedi’s lightsabre isn’t just a weapon. It is their life. The kyber crystal encased in it is attuned in the Force to the Jedi who found it. It sorts of sings to us. A reflection of who we are.”

One of the _Mando’ade_ grunts.

“Then I guess you don’t just go borrowing lightsabres.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head.

“Only if we’re close. Our lightsabres are deeply personal, it is one of the few things we truly own as Jedi.”  
“So it’s rude for someone to just… pick up your lightsabre.”

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows go up.

“Well, no Jedi would just let their lightsabre laying around, but yes, especially for another Force-sensitive.” He sees they don’t understand why the distinction is important. “People leave an imprint on objects, especially things that are important to them. Most of the time, it is something light and easily forgotten, but objects like lightsabres are literally imbued with our presence. Taking a lightsabre that isn’t our own is very intimate.”

They exchange uncomfortable gazes, _buy’ce_ to bare face, and then turn to him.

“I always thought our custom to wear the lightsabre taken from a killed Jedi was simply to show we are skilled enough to do so, but to you, it is worse than a simple warning.”

Obi-Wan’s fingers tighten on his arms. Not many _Mando’ade_ wear lightsabres as trophies now – not many have been capable of killing a Jedi – but the thought alone is distressing.

“Yes”, he finally replies. “Yes, it is. We understand that to the _Mando’ade_ , it is a trophy to show your skill, but… it’s akin to wearing the cut-off head of our brethren to your belt. Or taking and displaying someone else’s _beskar’gam_.”

The _Mando’ade_ around him shudder at the thought of doing something so cruel and disrespectful – armour is passed down from one generation to another, but it is always respected for what it means. He feels, in the Force, a ripple of understanding between them, though he can’t pinpoint what it was. It feels positive, though.

The children are still playing around, rough housing like only little children do, but they all keep an eye on them. He can’t stop himself from smirking when he sees Skira skilfully levitating a rock the size of a grown human’s fist, Naak attempting to redirect it as though they’re playing push-feather. Meditating almost daily with Anakin has obviously benefitted them: they are very in tune with the Force, and more skilled at Force-manipulations than toddlers usually are. Some would call it inappropriate use of the Force, but he sees it as fine motion exercises, especially as the two brothers start balancing rocks on top of each other. He wonders who showed them that; it is an exercise meant for Initiates rather than younglings. Still, they manage to painfully stack three rocks before it all collapses.

Their new friends clap with glee, and start manually stacking rocks, Naak and Skira calling out where they are unbalancing them, and Obi-Wan is surprised by the patience of the Mandalorian kids. Jedi learn patience and sitting still young, but he wasn’t expecting that from them.

“I rarely see Ruusaan so focused”, a young mother chuckles next to him. “She’s a bit scatter-brained, I think teaching her will be… complicated.”

Obi-Wan checks his sons’ shields, to see if they’re projecting and influencing the others, but no, their shields are up and, though not very tight, without someone prodding at them it is perfectly acceptable. The action makes his boys look at him and push a curious inquiry through their bonds, wondering what’s happening.

“Is it not complicated, raising five toddlers at once?” someone finally asks.  
“Draining”, Obi-Wan replies truthfully. “Anakin has been a great help from the start. Thankfully, I’m not alone. Other Jedi are implicated in their lives, they’re watching over their three brothers as we speak.”  
“You said you were a crèche-master”, the _buir_ with the Force-sensitive son asks. “What does it mean? Like, you have adopted your children, but before? Those who are not adopted? How do you raise them?”  
“Communally”, Obi-Wan replies. “There’s a saying, ‘it takes a village to raise a child’. Well, it takes the Jedi Order to raise a Jedi. Crèche-masters have clans of five or six little ones, usually of similar species and ages to ease accommodations, and they raise them from the moment they arrive in Temple to the moment they’re taken as Padawans, or sent to the Corps. Senior Padawans, Knights and Masters teach classes during the day, so they have the needed education. At the moment, I teach the basics of diplomacy to several clans of Initiates, along with rotations on the basics of lightsabre manipulation and safety.”  
“And here I thought you just stood around looking pretty”, one of the _Mando’ade_ jokes, and Obi-Wan smiles.  
“Well, I can do that to”, he replies teasingly, and they laugh lightly.

When Anakin comes back two hours later, he has three comm codes and promises to set up play-dates for the children. He’s still a bit baffled by how easily the _Mando’ade_ are accepting him, when he _is_ part of an Order that is their long time enemy. Still, you don’t look at a gifted bantha in the mouth, as Anakin says. It’s fine by him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Obi-Wan charming all Mandalorians? Yes. Yes he is.
> 
> _Ori’n’ijaat_ : [the] Great Shame.  
>  _Ad be Taung, su'cuyi gar_ : Child of the Taung, you are still alive.  
>  _ba'juad_ : teacher/Master.


	16. Cin Vhetin - Part 8: Clones.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sathi learns the truth of the Vod'ike's origins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm updating early bc I'm covering for a colleague tomorrow and won't be able to update. We're catching up to what I've written so updates might be hectic in August - work is kicking my ass.
> 
> *
> 
> CT-3381 / Skira, blind.  
> CT-3382 / Tracyn, deaf, blond, golden eyes.  
> CT-3383/ Runi, Nautolan.  
> CT-3384/ Naak, Togruta.  
> CT-3385/Haat, autistic.

Anakin and Obi-Wan are both almost constantly bruised and slathering themselves in bacta to treat the injuries. The training is rough, and neither Dahl nor Sathi go easy on them. Sathi explained, during one of their training sessions, that they would both be considered under their protection as their sponsor until they were worthy of getting the first part of their armour. No _Mando’ade_ , not even Death Watch, would touch them before that and risk an immense humiliation. Once they’d start getting armour, however, all bets would be off and Sathi didn’t doubt that Death Watch would turn hostile, especially the Stewjoni faction, and probably some other Mandos too, who didn’t take right to them being brought into the fold.

It’s two months after his first meeting with the _Mando’ade_ of Little Manda’yaim that Anakin goes on an out-worldly mission, under Master Ti’s care. Obi-Wan doesn’t doubt that he’ll be in good hands, and can’t stop himself from feeling full of pride: Anakin is slowly shaping into an excellent Jedi, much better than most had thought when Obi-Wan first took him as his Padawan. There is little doubt that the Order’s changes are involved in that, though.

The _Kot’tigaanu_ program starts at about the same time, the results of hours of work between the Jedi Council and a few representative of the _Mando’ade_ , amongst which are Dahl and Sathi. The goal was to give the needed training to Force-sensitive _Mando’ade_ , so they could live safely. The suggestion to go over to the Corps had not gone well, both with the Mandalorians and the Corps, and so the Council had decided to keep a close eye on the matter. In the end, a group of a hundred volunteer Jedi Masters formed some sort of training corps for adult, Force-sensitive Mandalorians, who would then pass on the skill to Force-sensitive children in their care, or adults adopted into the creed. Groups of five Masters have been sent in the major settlements of the Mandalorian diaspora, to make the training more effective. It is also an undisguised attempt at fostering friendship between their peoples, and in spite of a few clashes in the beginning, things mostly seem to go well.

When Obi-Wan arrives to train, he notices immediately that Sathi isn’t alone in waiting for him. After his first assessment, there had been _Mando’ade_ training around them while Obi-Wan got his ass handed to him. He also has definitely noticed that Sathi is far above an average fighter, which is both a boon and a curse – he gets training from the best, sure, but he also cannot seem to get an upper hand on them. Not without actively using the Force, anyway, and Sathi has him training with Force-dampener cuffs after they understood that he didn’t only use the Force to pull moves a regular human being couldn’t, but also to predict their moves.

So, yeah, training is hell, but he’s steadily improving and he’s _glad_ that if he ever finds himself in a situation where he has to fight without using the Force, or while being unable to access it, he’ll be better than he was – better than most Jedi. Sathi is a harsh teacher, and they let no mistake pass, but they’re so damn _good_ that Obi-Wan can’t bring himself to mind. Dahl isn’t less exigent with Anakin, but he is… more considerate. Dahl is training an _ad_ in their ways, even if said _ad_ is a bit older than most. Sathi is training a full Jedi-Knight who will, the instant he receives his first piece of armour, have half of _Kyr’stad_ trying to kill him. This leaves no room for mistakes, for any weakness.

So far, they’ve been focusing on hand-to-hand without armour, but this time, he thinks it might be different. There’s a set of durasteel armour at Sathi’s feet, unpainted and heavily grazed. There are two other _Mando’ade_ with them – a Twi’lek from Dahl’s clan, who goes by Assri and is unfairly flexible, from what Obi-Wan saw, and a middle-aged man from clan Bralor, whom Obi-Wan knows has recently adopted a teen Togruta after breaking them out of slavery.

“You start training with _beskar’gam_ today”, Sathi declares. “All adults who follow the way start training with a full armour when they’re ready, so that when they start getting their own, it is really a second skin, and not a hindrance.”

Obi-Wan nods, and the two other _Mando’ade_ show him how to put on the armour. It’s slow going at first, and Obi-Wan is genuinely confused when, once he’s all strapped in, they take it all away.

“Again”, Sathi says, while her two assistants step away and start training on their own.

Obi-Wan is confused for a second, but then, he starts putting on the armour. The weight isn’t negligible, but he has worn _beskar’gam_ when he was in hiding with Satine and he knows he can handle it. It is a muscle-mass he needs to regain, a habit that didn’t really have time to set in – not that he wore the stolen _beskar’gam_ often. Once he has it on, Sathi nods.

“Take it off.”

And so Obi-Wan does. He has long since learned that there are people, like his Master and Sathi, with whom it is no use protesting. Besides, he’s fairly sure Sathi is trying to teach him something. It’s on him if he can’t figure out what. He doesn’t notice it when he slowly sinks into the moving meditation of putting the armour on and off, barely registering Sathi’s call. His fingers are going numb with tightening the straps and then loosening them, but he doesn’t really notice it until Sathi stops him with a gentle hand on his.

“You’ve done well”, they say, and glance at Assri.  
“Four minutes and forty-seven seconds”, she says, grinning ferally. “If you forget the floating stuff, I’d say we’re good.”  
“…What?”  
“The floating stuff”, Assri repeats, glancing up, and _oh_.

He has gone deep enough that there are weapons and pieces of armour spinning slowly in a steady pattern above their heads, the present _Mando’ade_ staring at them, bemused. He lowers them with a sigh, and finally notices the aching in his muscles, as though he has had his usual training session. His mind screeches to a halt.

“…How long have I been meditating?”  
“Stuff started to float about two hours ago”, Assri replies. “But your mind was gone well before that.” She cocks her head aside. “You were meditating? Aren’t you supposed to, I don’t know, sit down somewhere calm?”  
“Not necessarily”, Obi-Wan replies, shaking his head and stretching his sore muscles. “We can do what we call a moving meditation. Usually, it’s done with a ‘sabre and called the meditation of the blade. Anakin uses moving meditation when he repairs things.” He waves his hand. “I didn’t realize I was meditating. What was that, the nearly five minutes?”  
“The time it took you to put the armour on”, Sathi replies.

Obi-Wan pauses. The first time he put it on, with Assri and _be_ Balor’s help, it took a bit more than twenty minutes, as they reminded him of the name of each piece, adjusted it exactly, and showed him how to do it himself. The next time he did it himself, it took him a quarter of an hour. Somehow, the repetition had become fast enough that it now took him less than five minutes to do it.

“It’s about the time it takes any _Mando’ad_ ”, Sathi adds. “Though, we rarely do it that fast unless there is an emergency.” They eye him. “Ready?”

His muscles are screaming in protest, but his mind is at ease, the Force swirling around him. He looks around.

“Where are my cuffs?”

Assri slides them around his wrists, and while not being able to fully access the Force was jarring at first, he is now merely unsettled. It feels like training with his eyes covered. He wonders, idly, how long he’ll last with the cuffs on. He’s ready to find out.

Anakin comes back from his successful mission three months later, elated and even taller than he was when he left. He is tanned from staying in the sun, and it is clear he has learned much at Master Ti’s side. He isn’t even arrived to their quarters when his brothers burst out and he laughs, crouching and opening his arms for them to rush in.

“Ani! Ani’vod!” they call, “we missed you!”  
“Oh I missed you too, _vod’ike_. Were you nice to Obi-Wan?”

They nod in unison and he notices, painfully, that he isn’t the only one who’s grown. They’ve reached the development of three years old children, and the _Mando’ade_ won’t be long to notice. He spends most of his day back with his Master and his brothers, basking in the feeling of home, and is about to ask Obi-Wan if he wants him to cook dinner when someone knocks at the door. Someone being Master Koon, as his Force-presence indicates.

“Thank you for coming”, Obi-Wan says with a smile. “You have my comm if there’s any problem.”  
“Of course, Knight Kenobi”, Plo replies, hints of warmth in his voice.  
“ _Ba’vodu Plo!”_ Skira screams, running to him and holding his hands up for a hug.  
“What’s happening?” Anakin asks, slightly confused. “Are we going somewhere?”  
“You and I are having dinner at the _Jatnese_ ”, Obi-Wan replies. “You might want to change your clothes”, he adds with a nod to Anakin’s robes. While Anakin changes, he turns back to Plo Koon. “They’re already bathed and in their sleep-clothes, so there’s just dinner, maybe evening meditation if you feel up for it. And a story, they won’t quite settle without a story.”

Plo Koon chuckles and puts his hands on Obi-Wan’s shoulders.

“You worry and you fret for nothing, Obi-Wan. I have cared for younglings before. Go, spend time with your Padawan and your Mandalorian brothers, and I will care for the _Vod’ike.”_

Obi-Wan nods and a moment after, Anakin comes back, having shed robes and outer-tunics, to remain only in the inner-most layer of clothes, leaving his arms bare. Obi-Wan notes that he really is taller, on par with him now, and he sighs. They both have their lightsabres on their belts, Little Manda’yaim now used to seeing them out and about.

“Dahl is impatient to resume your training”, Obi-Wan says with a smile. “I think he intends to start using the Force-dampening cuffs, like Sathi did for me.”  
“I’ve told you all about the mission, but you haven’t told me about your training”, Anakin replies. “Care to elaborate?”

Obi-Wan huffs at the obvious sass, and tells him about the armour, and the moves he learnt. Once they’re in the Temple-issued speeder, Anakin driving, his Padawan finally decides to ask:

“They’re growing still. The _Mando’ade_ will notice. What will we do?”  
“I intend to tell Sathi”, Obi-Wan replies. “Since they’re sponsoring me, and they’re the closest thing to a clan _alor_ there is around here. And also, because they’re the secret-keepers.”  
“Only that they’re growing fast?” Anakin says.  
“I’m still unsure about telling them what they really are”, Obi-Wan admits. “I don’t know what the _Mando’ade_ think about cloning.”  
“You should tell them”, Anakin says, sounding absolutely certain. “Having a powerful _Mando’ad_ who knows the dangers in on the secret can only help us.” He glances at him. “The Force is very clear on that point.” He purses his lips. “I keep having visions. They’re always changing, but there’s one constant: Sathi will do anything to protect the _Vod’ike_.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t know whether he’s reassured or more anxious to know that. Their dinner goes well, Anakin’s new friends eager to see him again. Obi-Wan takes an appointment with Sathi as the Armourer rather than as the one training him, and Sathi doesn’t comment, though he can feel their curiosity in the Force. The kids shouldn’t need to have their armour adjusted so soon, and as a matter of fact, they don’t. But they’ve reached the three years old development, and it’s time for them to get vambraces. It is also the occasion to speak with them, without anyone listening in.

Two days later, Obi-Wan goes to Little Manda’yaim with his sons and Anakin. Sathi is waiting for them in their workshop, and they open their arms wide for the children, all five throwing themselves at them and holding on tight to their _beskar’gam_.

“ _Ba’vodu_ ”, Runi says, “ni copaani ven’cuyi sa gar. »

Sathi bounces them, approval and love pouring out of them and washing over the kids.

“ _Su’cuyi_ , Obi-Wan, Anakin.”  
“May we talk, Sathi?”, Obi-Wan says, voice soft and stern to convey his utter seriousness.

They catch up on it and nod, before closing the doors of the forge. Obi-Wan crosses his arms, mulling things over. He doubts there’s a really good way to say what he has to say.

“I need your oath”, he says, “that you won’t reveal what I’m about to tell you about my children, for their own safety.”

They also know he wouldn’t ask for an oath lightly, and they nod tightly, giving him their oath. They walk a bit farther while Anakin gathers the _vod’ike_ , and lower their voices.

“Have you noticed anything about them?” he asks.

Sathi looks at the children, silent for a moment.

“I haven’t raised children of my own, but I’m fairly sure they’ve grown quite fast in the few months I’ve known you.”

Obi-Wan nods.

“How old do you think they are?”

Sathi shrugs.

“Around three, I’d say, with their height and development.”

Obi-Wan gathers the bundle of pain he feels at the words and flings it out into the Force, though he _knows_ that’s not quite how he’s supposed to do this.

“I got them when they were new-borns, just a few days old”, he says, and looks up into their visor. “That was a year and a half ago.”

Sathi’s hand tightens so hard on the nearby furniture that he hears it creak.

_“What?”_  
“They grow up at twice the rate they should”, he replies. “Force, they should barely be _walking_ and look at them!”

So much for keeping his calm, but where his children are concerned, he finds it very hard to do.

“We think it has to do with how they were brought into the world”, he finally says, and calls his kids over. “ _Ad’ike_ , take off your _buy’ce_ please.”

Sathi tenses beside him.

“But, _buir_ , you said never to take it off outside of the Temple”, Runi protests.  
“ _Unless buir_ or Ani’vod tells us to”, Naak reminds him, elbowing him sharply to further his point.

Tracyn is the first with his helmet off, his blond hair swept up, grinning widely. Naak and Runi imitate him, and then, so do Skira and Haat. Haat’s hair is still cropped short, and Obi-Wan thinks it will always be so, but Skira’s is growing long, dark and luscious, pinned into a half-tail, the curls framing his face. He hears Sathi take in a sharp breath, and then they crouch down to see them clearly. Even with Tracyn’s blond hair, they look so much like each other it is impossible to deny. It is less obvious with Runi and Naak, but it only takes some attention to realize how much they look like the others too.

“How?” Sathi growls.

Anakin takes them away and has them put their _buy’ce_ on again, and Obi-Wan turns to Sathi.

“They’re clones. Of Jango Fett. We don’t know what he got himself into, if this was done to him willingly or not, but they’re his.” He clenches his fist. “We think they would have been killed for not being perfect copies. _Children_. They were just defenceless _babies_ and I-”

He turns away and bites into his fist to keep himself from screaming. It sets his blood boiling, and its worse when he thinks of the unknown number of little ones who have probably known such a fate. Whoever did that, he wants to wring their neck. _Demagolka_.

Sathi sits down heavily, the news obviously much for them to bear.

“I understand your concern”, they say after a moment. “Your secret is safe with me”, they add, “but others are bound to notice how fast they grow up.”  
“Let them know the truth. I doubt there is a believable lie I could make, and I’d rather not lie overmuch when their lives already rest on such a huge lie.”

There is a long silence as they look at the kids, who are playing with Anakin.

“If they are three, then they need vambraces”, Sathi says after a moment, their arms crossed.  
“That’s the other reason why I’m here”, Obi-Wan replied with a smile.

And Sathi gets down to work. Still, Obi-Wan can feel the concern rolling off of them, and he can’t help but worry they might do something dramatic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Kot’tigaanu_ : Force-touched (ie: Force-Sensitive).  
>  _be_ Balor: of Clan Balor, who belongs to Clan Balor. I used it as a marker to notify it is not that man's given name, but his family name.  
> ni copaani ven’cuyi sa gar: I want to be like you later.  
>  _Demagolka_ : someone who commits atrocties, a real-life monster, a war criminal.
> 
> Was the armour scene inspired from Karate Kid? Yes, yes it was.


	17. Cin Vhetin - Part 9: Kom'rk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan receives the first part of his armour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updating early again bc I have time now, and I'm not sure I'll have time tomorrow.  
> Slight content warning in the end notes.
> 
> *
> 
> CT-3381 / Skira, blind.  
> CT-3382 / Tracyn, deaf, blond, golden eyes.  
> CT-3383/ Runi, Nautolan.  
> CT-3384/ Naak, Togruta.  
> CT-3385/Haat, autistic.

Sathi asks Obi-Wan to come to the _Jatnese_ about a week after. He leaves the children at the Temple, but takes Anakin with him. He greets all the people he knows as he makes his way to Sathi, who is sitting at the counter with something wrapped in a piece of fabric in front of them.

“Obi-Wan”, they greet him, and he nods.  
_“Su’cuy.”_  
“I have trained you”, Sathi starts. “And I will continue to train you until you have earned a full _beskar’gam_ , but as is tradition, now that you have reached the first step…”

They undo the fabric and reveal gleaming vambraces, and Obi-Wan is struck speechless. They had talked about the colours Obi-Wan would want to paint his _beskar’gam_ in, but to actually see it is… He reaches out, fingers brushing against them. They’re forest green, for duty, and edged with a dark blue for reliability. They will, one day, be his face to the world.

“It is _beskar_ , and my gift as the one who helped you make your first steps on the Way.”  
“I- _Vor entye_ , Sathi.”

Slowly, he takes them and fits them over his forearms. They fit perfectly, of course – Sathi took all the measures they’d need months ago – and the metal is lighter than he expected. Knowing that it will stop blaster bolts and lightsabres just makes him giddy. Beskar is rare and precious, he knows it, and Sathi’s gift is priceless.  
He also knows that they mark him as being fair play, from now on, and he knows some won’t wait to provoke him into a fight. Especially the Stewjoni faction in the Death Watch; they have been out for blood ever since the truth of his origins was revealed. Sathi warned him, but- he’s ready. His friends, of course, loudly congratulate him, and he can see Anakin is fascinated.

Of course, that’s when there is a loud _thunk_ as a _Mando’ad_ , not openly Death Watch but certainly aligned, embeds his knife in a table. His _buy’ce_ is on the table, and Obi-Wan easily recognizes the tattoo swirling on his face and his clean-shaven head. Rako Hardeen has been observing him for weeks, ever since his origins were revealed. He would have thought the man Stewjoni himself, if Dahl hadn’t assured him that the man was Concord Dawn born and bred – though both Dahl and Sathi suspect the man is of the few able to remember. Whatever it is, Hardeen has it in for him, and Obi-Wan knows there is no way out of a fight without passing for a coward.

Later, he could show himself lenient, but right now, he just got his vambraces, the proof that he is making headway to become Mandalorian himself, and he can’t afford to show weakness. Dahl sighs loudly.

“Hardeen, _my table_ ”, he growls, and Hardeen makes a hand-gesture that is certainly very rude – Obi-Wan first saw it when Satine did it to him, though she didn’t explain herself, and he had had enough context to understand the broad meaning -, but that Obi-Wan doesn’t understand specifically.

Unlike his Padawan, the first thing he learns in a new language aren’t swear-words – or at least, he doesn’t go looking for them. It’s not his fault that Huttese has more curses than the average language. Either way, it is rude enough for Dahl to slam his hands on the counter and lean forward threateningly.

“You want to go, Hardeen?” he asks, voice hard.  
“Not with _you_ ”, Hardeen sneers, his gaze landing on Obi-Wan. “I contest Kenobi’s right to armour”, he loudly declares, and there are pleased hums from the ones who resent him becoming one of them.

Those who are on his side – and he is pleased to see just _how many_ of them there are – don’t react outwardly, but they brim with outrage in the Force. Assri especially seems to be vibrating in her armour. To his surprise though, it’s not her who talks.

“Are you saying the Armourer was wrong in choosing him and training him?”, one of the parents he’s hesitantly made friends with say threateningly.  
Obi-Wan nearly flinches. He hadn’t thought of that, even after learning what exactly being the Armourer entailed, but contesting Sathi and their decisions is… not as bad as doing so with the _Mand’alor_ , but certainly bad enough.

“We all know Sathi’s skills”, Hardeen retorts, “and I say they waste them on an _aruetyc jetii_ just because they’re after the _adiike_.”

Outrage blares from Sathi in the Force, but they don’t move and Obi-Wan is still impressed by their self-control. It would be befitting of a Jedi.

“So what”, Obi-Wan asks, taunting. “You’re thinking you can… kill me and take my kids?” He stares back at him hard, arms crossed over his chest. “You seriously think the Jedi would let you? We may not seek revenge as a creed, but that doesn’t mean we won’t protect our own _fiercely_.”

For some reason, the word sends a shudder into some _Mando’ade_ , and while he thinks that some remember Galidraan, and how it hadn’t even been _personal_ , most are those he knows are Stewjoni.

Right, murderous rage. Maybe they’re afraid of that. Thinking about it, that’s probably what it is.

_“Bal gar mirsh solus meh gar mirdi mhi ven duum gar”_, another growls.

He has a feeling they aren’t talking about Hardeen killing him, but about him keeping his children for himself. And honestly? He’s pretty sure Hardeen would make a terrible parent.

“I can always kill you now and see about the specificities later”, Hardeen replies, slowly standing up.

Obi-Wan is pretty sure Dahl is about to ask them not to brawl in his cantina when Hardeen lunges at him, vibro-blade at the ready.

_“Gev!”_ Sathi says loudly, but it not directed at them, and rather at the Mando’ade who would have intervened. “It is Hardeen’s right to contest Obi-Wan’s _beskar’gam_ , and it is Obi-Wan’s to defend it. You will not intervene.”

Obi-Wan can’t stop himself from thinking that Hardeen is downright lucky that Obi-Wan plays fair, and is a Jedi, otherwise he would have already lost his head to a swipe of his lightsabre. He also knows he won’t gain the respect of the _Mando’ade_ if he uses the Force to win this duel, and as it stands, they don’t have enough respect for his skills for him to be comfortable. Hopefully, this will silence a few venomous tongues.

It is also a good thing that since his Padawan years, he’s taken to always carrying a blade or two aside from his lightsabre. You never know when you might need a knife, after all. There is one hidden in the sole of his boot, and this one, he never reveals – it is his trump card. There is another one, fairly bigger, that he has taken to carrying along his forearm ever since his first foray into Little Manda’yaim. With a flick of the wrist, he unsheathes it, settling his grip on the handle as he leaps back from Hardeen’s swipe.

He’s at a disadvantage: Hardeen is wearing his armour, Obi-Wan only has his newly given _kom’rke_ and his Jedi robes. The layers are, thankfully, good against direct stabs, twisting in a way similar to silk and entrapping the blade. They are, however, vulnerable to slashes. Obi-Wan moves forward, aiming his blade at the gap between arm and shoulder, foot kicking out to catch Hardeen’s knee. He doesn’t make it, but the Mandalorian is forced to ward off his blow unless he wants to be stabbed through his thermals.

Obi-Wan crowds him in, taking advantage of his flexibility against his opponents heavier muscle mass, and finally manages to get a grip on his armour, throwing him over his shoulder and into the ground, knocking the breath out of him. His outer tunics are in tatters, but the vambraces do their job and protect his forearms, which are probably the only thing left untouched after five minutes of fighting. Hardeen caught him with a glancing punch at the cheek, and had he taken the full brunt of the blow, he would have had a shattered cheekbone. As it stands, he’ll only have a nice, dark, swollen bruise that will make the healers yell at him.

Still, he managed to get one of Hardeen’s kneecaps, which is probably dislocated at least, and it’s a testament to _Mando’ade_ pig-headedness that Hardeen is still standing if that’s the case. Obi-Wan is really awed, in fact. That should have put Hardeen down for the count, and he reflexively reaches out with the Force and meets, even more surprised, strong shields and a not-quite-hidden Force-presence. Hardeen isn’t _trained_ to use the Force, but he has been using it unconsciously for a long while, it seems, if he can disregard his pain like this.

The Mandalorian moves and pops his knee back into place with hardly a grunt, and Obi-Wan wonders whether all Mandalorians are this tough. He doesn’t wonder long: memories of his time on the run with Satine come back, and yes, they are. He gets him a second time, and there’s the audible sound of bone shattering, and Hardeen’s leg collapses under him. It’s a miracle he hasn’t broken his own foot doing that, but that’s what the Force is for. Just because he isn’t using it in obvious ways doesn’t mean he isn’t using it at all, especially in a fight against a skilled opponent who also happen to be Force-sensitive.

Hardeen crumples, though to his credit, he doesn’t make any other sound than a grunt. Obi-Wan is thankful they are inside – had Hardeen been able to use the full-range of his _beskar’gam_ , Obi-Wan would have had no choice than to rely on the Force to make it an even fight. He doesn’t wait and strikes with his armoured forearm on the side of Hardeen’s head, rendering him unconscious. Hardeen slumps farther in a heap of flesh, bone and metal, and Obi-Wan looks up, breathing hard, adrenaline dancing in his veins.

“Anyone else?”

His mouth feels tacky from blood – he must have bitten his tongue at some point – and so do his beard. He’s a sight for sore eyes, certainly. There is the sound of people in armour shuffling, but no one pipes up.

_“Ba’juad”_ , Anakin calls through their bond, and he turns to him.

Anakin’s brow is creased in worry, and Obi-Wan distinctly remembers the vision that plagued his Padawan – a bad brawl surrounded by Mandalorians. He wonders what he must look like, that Anakin hadn’t known he was winning. Surely worse than he feels. Anakin closes the distance between them in a few strides – and _Force_ why are his legs so damn long? Qui-Gon never said Shmi was _this tall_ – and cups his head to look at him.

“You scared me, _ba’juad_ ”, he says. “You should sit and let a medic take a look at you.”

Obi-Wan starts to pull a face, Anakin knows he has no love for Healers and medics, but his cheek and jaw twinge with the move, and pain slowly starts to settle in… a bit everywhere in his body. Oh, yes, he must be a right mess. A _Mando’ad_ in blue and black armour guide him to a chair. She has the crest of clan Bralor on her pauldron, and the same dark skin as Master Windu. One light brush into the Force, and he meets tight shields, but she offers him a light affirmation – yes, she is from Haruun Kal. How she came into the Mandalorian fold is another story. There is also another sigil on her helmet, indicating that she is a trained medic – _baar’ur_ , as the _Mando’ade_ call them.

He might be slightly loopy from one of Hardeen’s blows to his head, because he feels a bit all over the place, sprawling into the Force and basking in it in a way he only does in Temple. He knows his assumption is right when he feels Anakin strengthening his shields, like he did so many times for his Padawan. The _baar’ur_ – her name is Reve, clan Bralor, and she was once House Mereel. He knows this because she’s been coming to the play-dates he organizes with other _buire_ for their children lately, and she has a very beautiful little girl named Lihu who is very strong in the Force, so much that Haat has instinctively started to show her how to shield – tests some of his blood, and swears at the results.

“Problem?”, Anakin asks.  
“The _shabuir_ poisoned his blade with spice”, she replied. “He’ll be fine”, she adds quickly – probably when she feels Anakin’s spike of worry – “but he’s already getting high. You don’t want him anywhere near the kids, not with how loopy he’s going to be.”

Sathi snorts, like a loopy Jedi is something one might want. Anakin, though, can’t stop himself from worrying. He’s seen spice-addled slaves on Tatooine, and though his mother tried to shield him, he’s seen the ones who were given that one brand of ryll that made them hyper-compliant. He can’t stop his thoughts from spiralling in worry, and only when _Qui-Gon is gonna be so mad_ crosses his brain does he realize some of it is not from him, but from Obi-Wan, leaking all over their bond. He throws up his shields and feels his head clear some, but worry is still eating at him.

“My place is upstairs”, Dahl says in a low voice. “He can stay there until he’s fine. If you can remain here to help in case he lashes out with the Force… unless you need to pick up the _adiike?”_  
“ _Vor’e_ ”, Anakin replies.  
“I will stay too”, the _baar’ur_ says, and Anakin is pretty sure he knows her name but he can’t, for the life of him, remember it. “To monitor the situation.”

Only once they have Obi-Wan settled on a cot, with most of his clothes off since he started to sweat like crazy, his eyes roaming about and disjointed sentences falling from his lips, Anakin calls Master Plo and explains what happened. The Jedi, of course, immediately agrees to care for the children as long as needed, and offers to send Jedi to pick them up. Reve shuts that down _hard_ , now that she has Obi-Wan somewhat stable, and Master Plo folds graciously. The good thing is, as limp as he is, Obi-Wan can’t protest too much when she carefully disinfects and bandages the cuts Hardeen gave him. 

“Am I wrong thinking he’s younger than he looks?” she says once Obi-Wan has fallen into a fitful sleep, and Dahl has brought them caff to help staying awake.  
Anakin shakes his head.  
“People think he’s too young to be my Master, and now that I’m more adult-looking, there are some who had thought _he_ was _my_ Padawan, the one time he shaved his beard because it couldn’t be saved.” The _Vod’ike_ are to blame for that. He smiles at the memory, and dutifully, caringly wipes a wet cloth down Obi-Wan’s face and neck. “I’m lucky to have him.” 

He clamps down hard on the fear he has to lose him – him, and his mother, his brothers, all his friends. He grew up having nothing, and what he has is so much more precious for it. Dahl reaches out to him, settling a large, heavy hand on his shoulder. The comforting gesture only makes him sag a little, and something shudders inside of him. He lost his mother to follow Qui-Gon, and then he lost Qui-Gon to the Sith. He couldn’t bear to lose Obi-Wan. 

“Hey”, his Mandalorian mentor says gently, “it’s okay to be scared. Obi-Wan is your family.”  
“I’m a Jedi”, he replies sullenly. 

A Padawan who just spent quite some time away from his Master and his brothers, on a stressful mission, for all that it went fine, and who missed them. He’s… more strained than he thought he was. 

“I’m pretty sure Jedi have feelings, just like anyone else”, Dahl replies. “Your _ba’juad_ might be very good at hiding his, like all _Jetii_ , but I’m pretty sure they run deep inside of him. No one can make it as a Mando without some fire inside.” He ruffles his hair, like Obi-Wan does sometimes, and it soothes him a bit. “He cares for you. I’m a _buir_ too, and we only ever want to show you the best of us. What we think is best for us to be. Obi-Wan certainly wants to be a good Jedi to teach you, but even he must fail sometimes.” 

Anakin knows, logically, that Obi-Wan isn’t perfect. But he never actually stopped to think about how Obi-Wan might be posturing for his sake, just like he does for his brothers. Because they need a strong, reliable role-model, and that is what he is for them, and that is- He pinches his eyes shut, as something crumples inside of him. That is what Obi-Wan is for him. 

“There, let it out”, Dahl says, and his _beskar’gam_ is cold under his cheek, his hand gently cupping his head, and only then does he realize he’s sobbing wretchedly. 

There were so many visions where he lost Obi-Wan – and he could handle them, when he woke up in the middle of the night and reached for their bond or, on the very bad nights, nudged Obi-Wan’s door open just to see him whole and hale. But on the mission, he had neither the comfort of their bond, nor the assurance of seeing him in the morning. More than missing his Master, some part of him was scared he would never see him again. 

“ _Ni nu’lise_”, he gasps, clinging to Dahl. 

He feels Obi-Wan reaching out sluggishly in the Force, and grabs him tight. He’s not letting go. Then, Obi-Wan falls asleep again, and Anakin makes to lean away from Dahl, after he’s cried all over his armour. 

“Shh. It’s alright, you can stay”, Dahl replies, and Anakin’s eyes are heavy and sore from crying.  
The vision isn’t his own – he knows it, because he never sees himself from a third person point of view. This is Obi-Wan’s, and he startles at how _clear_ his visions are, how strong. He knew Obi-Wan was strong in the Unifying Force, and leaning heavily into prescience, but to actually see it is something else. The horror he feels, the guilt and love, they’re not his either. They’re Obi-Wan’s. 

“Anakin _please_ ”, his Master pleads, and it is _wrong_. “Do not go where I can’t follow. Do not cross that line.”  
“He took _everything_ from us”, he screams back, and Force, is that him?! 

He looks absolutely unhinged, his eyes shot with blood and lined dark from sleepless nights, hair flat, dry and greasy, his hands trembling. There is a bracelet around his wrist, made of four Padawan braids braided together, with the silka beads of a non-human Padawan. He has seen it before, and it rarely was a happy vision. Not when there are so many braids. The happy ones only have two, sometimes three: the red braid, that he knows his Obi-Wan’s, somehow, and his own, dark blond. Sometimes, there are the silka beads too. This one, however… this one feels wrong, feels tinged with death and guilt. 

“I know”, Obi-Wan replies softly. “I feel their loss, too, Anakin. I carry them with me because it is _all I can do_. Please, don’t make me lose you too.”  
“I don’t know if I can promise that”, Anakin breathes, and turns to him, and he looks haunted. “I can’t- I can’t _live_ with that.” 

He feels something in Obi-Wan shatter, the kindred knowledge that they are both standing over a precipice. Something shifts, then. 

“We are _Mandalorians_ ”, Obi-Wan growls, “and we will have vengeance for our kin. For all the _Mando’ade_ , all the Jedi, all the _Vode_ Sidious slaughtered. _That_ is my promise. And we’ll do it _together_.” 

Obi-Wan feels cold, in the Force, and there is a clarity to his mind that feels deeply unsettling. He turns, and there’s a mirror there, wherever _there_ is, and his eyes are blazing gold. 

Anakin wakes up screaming and clawing at his face. He vaguely feels someone pinning him to the ground, large hands wrapping around his wrists and pulling his hands away from his face as he struggles, gasping for air and unable to breathe. 

_“Breathe”_ , someone tells him, in the tone of one who has been repeating themselves for a while now. 

In the turmoil of the Force, he feels Obi-Wan reaching out – and, distantly, his brothers sleepily trying to soothe him, wondering what’s happening – and he grabs at their bond. A moment later, shaking arms are wrapped around him and he recognizes Obi-Wan’s voice, raspy and broken, humming comfortingly. 

Obi-Wan looks up, his eyes red from his fit-full sleep and drugged night, and thanks Dahl with a nod. He feels weak, from the spice actually wearing off, and from his own terrible vision that he unwillingly shared with his Padawan. Something Dark looms in the Force, and the visions – his and Anakin’s – only seem to confirm that. He feels another pulsing behind his eyes, and Anakin’s fingers tighten on his hands. 

“GENERAL KENOBI”, a voice breaking in the puberty throes says, and Obi-Wan turns and laughs, seeing Skira perched on Cody’s shoulders, both holding lightsabres and grinning ferociously. 

“Well, hello there”, he replies, and then his eye twitches. “Is that my lightsabre?” he asks, eyeing his lightsabre in Cody’s hand. 

The young man grins, unrepentant, and Obi-Wan shakes his head fondly. The other lightsabre he recognizes too, this one is Anakin’s, who is laughing a bit farther, Haat on his shoulders and deftly juggling with him. He hears giggling and turns long enough to see Naak whispering with a young Togruta he recognizes as Initiate Tano. An arm loops around his waist, and he leans back into the touch. 

_“Mhi ba’juri verde”_, whoever it is murmurs, and he sighs.  
“Not for war”, he murmurs sadly. “They should have more than a handful of happy moments. They shouldn’t have to bury brothers. I’m sick of this, _cyare_. Jedi aren’t meant for war. _Children_ aren’t meant for war, and they are all children.” 

It feels like an argument he has had often. Fingers tips his chin back and he closes his eyes as a warm mouth slots over his. 

“Soon, _ner mesh’la parjai_.” 

Obi-Wan blinks, the vision dissipating, and Anakin scrunches his nose and wipes his mouth. 

“That was _so kriffing weird_ , Master.” 

Obi-Wan, wrecked as he is, can’t stop himself from laughing. Yes, he would think it is. Dahl and Reve help him settle back on the bed, and he cuddles his Padawan close, the loss from the first vision still stark in his mind. There is Darkness looming, but… the fight is not yet over, and Obi-Wan hasn’t said his last word. He won’t lose everything. He won’t. 

He couldn’t stand it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _korm'rk(e)_ : gauntlet(s), vambrace(s).  
>  _Vor entye_ : Thank you.  
>  _aruetyc jetii_ : traitorous Jedi.  
>  _“Bal gar mirsh solus meh gar mirdi mhi ven duum gar”_ : And you’re an idiot if you think we’d let you (lit: And your brain cell is lonely if you think we will authorize you).  
>  _Gev_ : stop.  
>  _shabuir_ : extreme insult - *jerk*, but much stronger.  
>  _Vor'e_ : thanks.  
>  _Ni nu’lise_ : I can't.  
>  _“Mhi ba’juri verde”_ : we raise warriors (yes, still a marriage vows ref).  
>  _cyare_ : beloved.  
>  _ner mesh’la parjai_ : my beautiful victory.
> 
> *
> 
> Warning: non-consensual drug use.  
> I tore my hair out trying to write this fight scene bc I rarely write them and looking at knife-fights vids didn't exactly help since most of the time _they are not wearing armour_.  
> Also, yes, that last vision was inspired by art I saw on Tumblr and can't find again, except it's Ahsoka on Anakin's shoulders imitating Grievous.
> 
> 26/08/20 edit: Found it! (By losing myself on my own blog. Uh.) [You can see it here](https://bittodeath.tumblr.com/post/616532090195001344/notsotinyblob-you-know-all-those-tiktoks-of)


	18. Cin Vhetin - Part 10: Aay'han

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan has nightmares. Or rather, he has memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates on Thursdays seem to be becoming a trend this summer, uh.
> 
> *
> 
> CT-3381 / Skira, blind.  
> CT-3382 / Tracyn, deaf, blond, golden eyes.  
> CT-3383/ Runi, Nautolan.  
> CT-3384/ Naak, Togruta.  
> CT-3385/Haat, autistic.

His fight with Hardeen has won him the respect of many _Mando’ade_ more, even though Death Watch and the Stewjoni give it grudgingly. That doesn’t mean they stop there, though, but not many think themselves capable of fighting against him. He knows they will legally contest his right to wear armour until he has it complete and sworn to the _Resol’nare_ , which will still take a bit of time, and braces himself for it.

His main concern, though, is the spreading knowledge amongst the _Mando’ade_ that his children are growing too quickly. He may have said it was to be spread, but the surge of protective feelings every time he’s seen with his sons is still quite unsettling. Reve proposed her help as a medic, torn to watch her own child grow at a normal rate and not understanding why her playmates grow so quick, learn so fast. They hurt, and Obi-Wan does all he can to soothe the growing aches – especially Naak’s. Togrutas grow by leaps and bounds, and the accelerated growth is very taxing on his child, who has to stay bedridden for days, too tired and hurting too much to want to play.

His brothers remain by his side, of course, no matter how much Obi-Wan urges them to go out and play while Naak naps and rests. Anakin would do the same, if he didn’t send him to his classes, and he worries at the anger and pain pouring from his Padawan when he spars with Master Windu, or when he trains with Dahl. There was already so much of it in him, and Obi-Wan is scared of what Anakin might do when they’ll find out who did that to their _Vod’ike_.

If he’s completely honest with himself, he also worries about what he might do. Now that he is paying attention, he knows the thrum of violence he feels in his blood at the thought of his children being endangered is instinctive. It is a beast he is scared to unleash – he only did so once, and he wasn’t grown himself yet. The damage it did then is one he barely remembers, one he had forgotten until he heard Sathi’s story. He wishes he had never remembered.

_He feels the thrum in his blood grow louder and louder, even as the Force draws away and his lips peel back in a snarl. He doesn’t know what he looks like then, only knows that the pulse of fear he catches from the enemy is_ right. _There are Youngs, dead on the ground, and he gives up on restraining the sound mounting in his throat. A savage howl echoes and the enemies step back, smelling of fear, of blood-wrenching terror, and all he sees are the little ones strewn about on the ground. It’s wrong, and they must pay – they must pay in blood and flesh for harming children, and he will make them._

Obi-Wan wakes up with a start, his heart beating madly in his chest, and he presses a hand to it. Melida-Daan hasn’t actively tormented him in years, but it’s worse now. He knows the mind will sometimes hide and occult what it deems too traumatising to be dealt with, and he only thought the blank spaces in his memories of that time were that. That it was only a coincidence that none of the Young were ever there to witness the same things he did.

It is not. Or, rather, it is both. He would have rather he never remembered the savagery that lit his blood on fire when his little ones were injured and killed. He isn’t quite sure how he knows that what he feels, when he wakes up, is the feeling of flesh tearing under his nails, of blood filling his mouth. He carefully doesn’t think of why he might know those things. He was only a child himself, then. He doesn’t want to know what the so called Wrath might do to him now that he is an adult. Now that he has children of his own.

“You know, it’s not usually a good thing for a man to be drinking here alone in the middle of the night”, Dahl says, and Obi-Wan looks up from his spot at the bar.

His glass of _tihaar_ is half-empty, but it is not yet enough to drown the blood and screams that echo in his mind.

“So I will drink with you”, Dahl adds, sliding to sit himself down in front of him. “What is this about?”

Obi-Wan purses his lips, but he knows Dahl and Sathi are two people who won’t judge him for that. For what he apparently did.

“Ever since Sathi told me about… _Taung be Adenn_ , I’ve been having flashbacks. Memories I didn’t know I had.”

Dahl lets out a pained oomph, and downs his own drink.

“Okay”, he breathes, and slides a hand in his hair. “It’s… From what I know, it’s normal. Not to remember. That’s the way it works, because the Wrath cuts you from anything that is not instinct. You were protecting children, yeah?”

Obi-Wan purses his lips. He doesn’t talk about Melida-Daan. Not just because of the death and trauma he lived there, but because he was forsaken. Because he left the Order, and though he’s still certain he did the _right_ thing, he was still abandoned on a warzone with children. And he _understands_ the choices Qui-Gon made. He understands them, but that doesn’t change how he lived them.

“Have you heard of the Melida and the Daan?”

Dahl deals in information – he has, of course.

“Centuries of fighting. Yeah, I’ve heard of them. They managed to get peace a few decades ago, though, I think. I was just a teen when it happened, though.”

Obi-Wan snorts.

“So was I”, he replies. He stares into his drink. “Do you know how peace was achieved?”  
“Can’t say I do”, Dahl says. “Can’t say I’ve cared to learn.”  
“It was achieved because the orphaned children were sick of the fighting. Because the Young took up arms and did what they had to to unite the Melida and the Daan.”

Dahl slams his glass down.

“You were there.”

It is not a question. Obi-Wan doesn’t treat it as one. He gulps.

“I had to teach them not to leave their dead behind”, he says, “so they wouldn’t know how bad they’d hurt our forces.” His glass creaks in his hand. “I wasn’t a man yet, and I could easily carry two of them.”

The image he conjures is enough for Dahl to lose his composure: he stands up, stomping, and sends his glass shattering against a wall. The few Mandalorians who are there, so late at night, flinch at the sound. Dahl is known for his calm, for breaking apart fights in his cantina, for dragging away spiteful bastards and kicking them out without needlessly using violence. The display is unusual for him, and they turn to stare warily.

“ _Children_ ”, he seethes, and the present _Mando’ade_ tense. “Why were _you_ dealing with that? Where were the adults? Has your Republic failed so much that they let children be slaughtered?”

The more he talks, the heavier the tension grows, and Obi-Wan sighs and regrets opening his mouth.

“It was complicated”, he replies, not looking at him. “I had left the Order.”

Everything stills.

“You had- You were a _dar’jetii?”_

Obi-Wan flinches.

“No! Of course not, I wouldn’t use the Dark side! I had simply left the Order. There was… A Jedi Master, on planet, who had been badly injured and needed immediate assistance, or she would have died. She was very close to my Master. He couldn’t let her die, and I couldn’t let the Young fight alone. So I left the Order and stayed behind.”

A chair creaks heavily.

“You _stayed behind?_ Your _Jetii buir_ left you behind on a _warzone?_ And you were not yet an adult?”

Obi-Wan stiffens. Put like that, it sounds bad. He thinks about leaving Anakin behind in a warzone, and even though Anakin is older, the idea makes him flinch. No, it _was_ bad. It was bad, but Tahl was dying and he couldn’t- It was the only way.

“It was the only way”, he replies. “And I don’t regret staying behind. I don’t.”

_I regret the deaths_ , he doesn’t say. _I regret whatever it is I did that I can’t remember._

He flinches when Dahl drops down next to him, grabs his nape and pulls him into a Keldabe kiss.

“ _Vod_ ”, Dahl says, and Obi-Wan shivers at the name, at the casual acceptance, the claiming of the bond they have. “That was not right. There is not a universe where this was right. They failed you, and the adults there failed those children. They were not your responsibility. They should never have been.”  
“But they were”, Obi-Wan whispers back. “They were, and I don’t remember what I did, and I’m scared to remember.”  
“You did whatever you had to do”, Dahl bites back. “You protected those children with the weapons you had. That’s _mandokarla_ , Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan takes a shuddering breath and closes his eyes. He remembers his body moving, pouncing in a way that wasn’t anything like Force-assisted jumps. He vaguely remembers growling and howling like a beast, further from human than he had ever been. He remembers blood coating his hands, and he cannot say if it was from trying to staunch a wound, or from killing. Either way, it turns his stomach.

“How old were you.”

Dahl pushes back and Obi-Wan turns to face the _Mando’ad_ who talked. He doesn’t know him, but he wears what he thinks are the colours of Clan Wren, and he can’t quite remember whether they’re aligned with Death Watch or not.

“Old enough”, Obi-Wan replies, shoulders stiffening.

He hadn’t been a child anymore, by Mandalorian standards. A year past his thirteenth birthday, a year past the age _Mando’ade_ went through the _verd’goten_. He had been old enough.

“That is not an answer”, the Mando’ad retorts. “How old were you?”

_Too young_ , he thinks. And already so damned old.

“Fourteen”, he replies. “I was fourteen.”

Dahl hisses, and the _Mando’ad_ nods.

“And you thought, because you would have been old enough to go through the _verd’goten_ , you were too old to count as a child? We are a warrior people, Kenobi. It means we know more about war than most. Were you old enough to fight physically? Sure. But the trauma of young warriors isn’t an easy one to bear. You might not have been a child for all intents and purpose, but you should never have faced such a situation. Those children who fought with you should never have had to.”  
“I did what I had to”, Obi-Wan grounds, because it is all he can hang onto.  
“You did”, the _Mando’ad_ confirms. “That’s what a leader does. That’s what a warrior does. We are lucky to count you as one of our own.”

Obi-Wan blinks. This is not what he expected. He had come to drink and forget for a bit, and instead, memories keep on surging up in his mind. Cerasi. Oh, Cerasi. He closes his eyes, and murmurs her name for himself. He would say the name of all the Young who died fighting by his side, but to his great shame, he doesn’t know them all.

The _Mando’ad_ , who, now that he’s paying attention, is an old man, though still powerfully built and wearing his armour with pride, sits down on his other side, grabs the bottle from Dahl and pours some more in Obi-Wan’s glass.

“Tell me, _verd’ika_ , have you ever said your remembrance?”

Obi-Wan shakes his head, gulping.

“Attachment is prohibited to Jedi. We must let go, for there is no Death, there is the Force.”

He lets out a sharp “OW!” when he receives a slap at the back of his head.

“ _Di’kut_ ”, _be_ Wren says. “You are _Mando’ad_ , now, too, and we remember our dead. The _manda_ , the Force, does it really matter? They watch over us, they guide us, and it is our duty to honour and remember them. Letting go is a good thing, otherwise grief can poison your mind, but that doesn’t forbid remembering.”

Obi-Wan takes the time to think about what the old man means. The Mandalorian point of view and the Jedi’s differ on vengeance – one praising it as something to be sought out, the other refusing it to break a hurtful cycle. But remembering? He can remember. He definitely remembers. Taking a deep breath, he tastes the words on his tongue for the first time.

_“Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum_”, he says, and his companions raise their glasses. “Cerasi”, he says first, because she dwells on his mind. “Master Tahl.” He has to take a breath. “Master Jinn.” He pauses. “Bruck Chun. Xanatos. Master Tyvokka. Master Giett.”

He stops. He would mourn the Young, too, but he doesn’t feel like he has a right still to say their names. He should. He will. In the calm of the Force, when he can shatter and no one will see it.

Dahl and _be_ Wren – he should ask his name, he really should – drink with him well into the late hours of the night, or the early morning, depending on how you look at this, and their silent companionship is… good.

Anakin is already in Little Manda’yaim, where Dahl asked him to come by in the evening, when Obi-Wan arrives. Obi-Wan knows why Anakin was summoned thus: Dahl will give him his vambraces, the first part of his armour. He finds Anakin smiling as he talks with other _Mando’ade_ in the _Jatnese_ , sans robes and his clothes way tighter than a Jedi’s should be, closer to a thermal suit. There is no mistaking the way younger _Mando’ade_ are looking at him, and Obi-Wan suppresses a smile.

Still, it is not time yet, and he wants to give Anakin some time with his new friends. He slinks to the counter and sits there, a glass of _netra gal_ soon in hand. He recognizes the Force-presence as familiar before he actually identifies the _Mando’ad_ coming close and sitting beside him. _Be_ Wren looks sharper in daylight, his hair completely white and eyes a blue so clear they’re unsettling.

“I’ve been watching you, Kenobi”, he says. “Wondering whether you’d fit within our people, or if the _Jetii_ had smoothed out all your edges.”  
“I’d say the Jedi merely gave me sheathes for my claws”, Obi-Wan muses.

He knows how he appears. Calm, composed, peaceful. He doubts he has ever been one of these things. He was called _angry_ as a young child, and he _was_. He was furious at injustice, he raged against cruelty. Feelings that had to be smoothed over to fit in with the Jedi, but that the _Mando’ade_ accept and magnify. In a way, being both amounts to being neither. But being both also means being something _more_. For the first time in a very long time, he finally feels like he has found his place, and looking at Anakin, he can tell it’s the same for him.

_Be_ Wren grins.

“And now, Sathi is teaching you to sharpen them. I’ve seen them train you, and I saw how you took care of Hardeen. _Ori'buyce, kih'kovid_, that one, but he’s good. Not the best, but good. And you did so without flashy Force use, or a lightsabre.”  
“I had a feeling it wouldn’t endear me anyone”, Obi-Wan replies wryly.  
“And you were right”, _be_ Wren laughs. “But I must say, I’m curious to see how you’ll turn out once you’re sworn in. The last _Jetii Mando’ad_ was Tarre Vizsla, and he was _Mand’alor_. The skills of the Jedi, with the skills of the _Mando’ade_ … This is worthy of a story of old.” He looks up. “Now, tell me, are you here for something special or just a drink and company?”  
“Something special”, Obi-Wan replies, and smiles. “I believe my Padawan will receive a gift, this evening”, he says, nodding towards Anakin, who has finally noticed him.

The teen comes up to him, and clasps _be_ Wren’s arm with a grin. His Padawan braid falls to his shoulder, the end just brushing it, and his lightsabre is clipped to his belt. Otherwise, he looks very Mandalorian-inclined.

“Anakin Skywalker”, he says.  
“Elath, Clan Wren, House Vizsla”, _be_ Wren replies, and Obi-Wan very carefully does not react at that confirmation that Clan Wren is indeed aligned with Death Watch.

Anakin doesn’t have same diplomacy, and he cocks his head aside.

“You’re Death Watch, and you haven’t tried to deck Ma- _ba’juad_ Obi-Wan?”

He never calls him _Master_ when in Mandalorian company. They know what he means, but there are too many of the Freed around them to be this indelicate.

Elath laughs.

“I am not _that_ stupid, verd’ika. I’m past my prime and well aware of my limits, and your _ba’juad_ is a formidable warrior already.”

Anakin flushes; he hadn’t meant to insult the Mandalorian.

“I have a question for you, Ani’ika”, _be_ Wren says, the affective diminutive falling easily from his lips. “Did you, per chance, win the Boonta Eve a few years ago?”

It is not what Anakin expected, and he nods. Elath laughs heartily.

“I was in the stands that day. Had you not won your freedom that way and left, I was ready to adopt you.”

Obi-Wan blanks. He often wondered what would have become of his supernova of a Padawan if Master Jinn’s gamble hadn’t paid. This is certainly not the answer he expected – Anakin Freed and adopted by Death Watch. Raised with the _Resol’nare_ , his powers raw and untamed. A prey of choice for the Sith. He shudders at the thought.

To his surprise, Anakin merely grins.

“Well, I have my _buir_ and Obi-Wan, but nothing’s stopping your from being my _ba’vodu_.”

Obi-Wan sees Dahl flash a few hand-signs to _be_ Wren, something along the lines of “my offer still stands”, and Wren only replies with “later”.

Obi-Wan motions his Padawan to Dahl.

“Don’t make him wait”, he says.

He follows as they sit down at a table, Anakin talking excitedly about the last repairs and adaptations he made on ND-99 (sometimes, Obi-Wan swears he will scrap that droid, even though he would never), and Dahl listens, nodding along and asking questions, and it warms Obi-Wan’s heart to see the _Mando’ad_ genuinely caring about his Padawan.

Then, once Anakin is done, Dahl brings up a parcel wrapped in fabric, and Anakin freezes.

_Is this what I think it is?_ He asks Obi-Wan through their bond.  
 _Patience_ , Obi-Wan replies smugly.

“ _Vod’ika_ ”, Dahl says. “I’ve been teaching you as a _buir_ should, and you have progressed nicely, and faster than I expected. The journey is long and I’ll lead you until you can stand on your own two feet, with your complete _beskar’gam_ , but for now, you have reached the first mark of your journey.” He unwraps the vambraces, and sets them before Anakin. “As the one guiding you, I gift you, as tradition wants it, the first piece of your armour. It is _beskar_ , worked by our very own Sathi, and will serve you well.”

Anakin’s eyes are wide as saucers, and he gulps audibly, reaching out for the vambraces with trembling hands – much like he first did with his lightsabre. His fingers lightly skim the metal, feeling it physically and in the Force.

“ _Vor entye, ori’vod_ ”, he finally replies, voice tight with emotion, finally taking one of the vambraces in hand.

While Obi-Wan’s are fairly simple and modest, just like he wanted, Anakin’s hold much more detailed engravings that are a credit to Sathi’s skill, and remind Obi-Wan of Nabooian fashion. They are black, for justice, and edged with the scarlet of defiance, Mandalorian lilies etched into them and tightly entwined with flowers Obi-Wan doesn’t recognize. Anakin, though, obviously does.

“They’re just like in my vision”, he says, entranced. “Padmé and lily entwined, rebirth and prosperity as one”, he recites with a far-away look, “kyber heart in beskar skin, to fight evil un-foreseen.”

This sends a chill to Obi-Wan’s spine and he shivers. He knows a prophecy when he hears one, he who finds himself burdened with a gift in foresight. Anakin isn’t as strong, but he’s just so powerful in the Force – and if he is the Chosen One, it would only make sense that he gets such warnings.

“Padmé?” Obi-Wan asks, worried.

He remembers perfectly how strongly Anakin saw himself marrying the young queen. He had talked about that vision many times, about the fact that when he saw her, he simply knew. He hasn’t talked about her since he got his brothers, but Obi-Wan doubts he has ever forgotten.

“It’s a flower”, Anakin replies immediately. “It’s this flower”, he adds, finger trailing along one of the etches in his vambrace.

Shaking his head, he fits the vambraces over his forearms, admiring their look and boiling with curiosity. Obi-Wan knows that the first thing he’ll do will be to bring his lightsabre down on it, just to see for himself how beskar blocks lightsabres. There is something delicate about the intricate engravings that looks both fitting and out of place on Anakin. He has never known a life of delicacies, not as a Jedi, and certainly not as a slave on one of the harshest planets hoisting life in the galaxy.

His charge disappears to show off his new vambraces to his friends, who are appropriately awed by Sathi’s work, even though most of them, being Anakin’s age, have had their complete armour for some years already.

“You can be proud of him, you know”, Dahl says, and Obi-Wan turns.  
“I am”, Obi-Wan replies. “I’m very proud of him.”  
“He’s a biter though”, Dahl jokes. “Did _you_ teach him that?”

Obi-Wan scrunches his nose. He, too, has a faint scar on his forearm where Anakin bit him once. He hadn’t handled the former-slave part of Anakin’s mentality well at that time, hadn’t realized that, if he asked Anakin to fight with him so he could gauge his skills, Anakin would fight with all he had, and fight _dirty_. Thankfully, Anakin has quickly understood that biting isn’t appropriate during friendly spars. He still resorts to it when he gets overwhelmed, especially in hand-to-hand combat, and Obi-Wan isn’t exactly surprised that he did exactly that while training with Dahl. After all, he too realized quickly fighting dirty is not only appropriate, but expected.

“His mother did, actually”, Obi-Wan replies. “Slaves cannot own weapons but the ones they’re born with, and she made sure her son knew how to use them as devastatingly as possible.”

Dahl hums.

“Well, biting is all fine and dandy until you bite a species you shouldn’t. Like Togruta.”  
“Togruta being venomous is a spacer-tell, though”, Obi-Wan replies, thinking of Master Ti and the Initiate who was crying she comforted, who thought they were going to die because their Togruta playmate bit them.  
“Yes”, Dahl confirms. “They are, however, very poisonous. Headache and nausea inducing for humans and most near-human species. Deadly to some other species. Biting one would be a _very_ bad idea.”

Obi-Wan… doesn’t know what to make of that information. On one hand, he has no intention whatsoever to bite a Togruta. On the other, Naak might possibly be poisonous and it’s not something he has ever considered. He lifts his glass.

“No biting Togrutas, got it”, he says before taking a sip.

Life can, apparently, keep on getting weirder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _aay'han_ : bittersweet perfect moment of mourning and joy - *remembering and celebrating*  
>  _verd'goten_ : (lit. soldier-birth) coming-of-age in Mandalorian culture, where a young one is ready to work by themselves and fight. Usually at thirteen, for an apprenticeship that goes from 8 to 13.  
>  _verd'ika_ : private (rank) Can be used affectionately, often to a child; *little soldier* - context is critical. Here, of course, it's affectionate.  
>  _manda_ : the collective soul or heaven - the state of being Mandalorian in mind, body and spirit - also supreme, overarching, guardian-like.  
>  _“Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum_ ”: Daily remembrance of those passed on *I'm still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal.* Followed by repetition of loved ones' names.  
>  _Ori'buyce, kih'kovid_ : All helmet, no head. Common term of derision for someone with an overdeveloped sense of authority  
>  _vor entye, ori'vod_ : thank you, big brother.
> 
> So! Two things: starting next update, I'll be adding "Interlude - Kot'tigaanu". They'll come in different sizes and won't count as a chapter update, unless it's a big one. They won't be Obi-Wan or Vod'ike focused, but are setting up the stage for the next important arcs.  
> Also, I'm now accepting prompts on my tumblr (bittodeath), all details on my pinned post!


	19. Interlude - Kot'tigaanu: Part 1.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Kot'tigaanu programs consists of Jedi Masters and Knights being sent through the galaxy to teach Mandalorian Force-Sensitives how to control and shield themselves, just like the Corps do for Force-Sensitives throughout the galaxy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm posting this now that I'm done. It might be shooting myself in the foot bc I'm not sure I'll have next chapter ready for Friday, but. Well, here it is.

Jedi Master Ima-Gun Di lands on Kuat after spending days meditating on his assignment. He could have refused to take it – the Council has been very clear that open-mindedness is absolutely necessary for this mission – but he has to admit he is… curious. He was a lightsabre instructor for a few years, before he went back to the field. This is… unlike any other mission he has ever taken. Admittedly, this should be a mission for the EduCorps. He understands why it isn’t, though.

The Mandalorian Diaspora has seen its people spreading all around the galaxy, and Kuat is one of the major Mandalorian settlements. They have been warned of his arrival, of course. He isn’t sure what to expect. The relationship between the Order and the warriors of old have never exactly been friendly, though Knight Kenobi has been changing that. He will admit to being completely under the _Vod’ike’s_ charm, like most of the Temple on Coruscant.

His ship lands and he sees the welcome committee waiting for him outside. This is probably as weird for the Mandalorians as it is for him. He isn’t sure that makes it easier. There are five Mandalorian waiting outside, in full-armour, but their helmets off, hooked at their belts. The information packet he has lets him know which Clans they belong to within a glance. Four of them are Old Clans, and were once House Mereel. The last one is Death Watch. He finds it pretty telling that there are no New Mandalorians there.

The offer has been made to Duchess Satine, of course, but her people apparently found what they needed with the Corps. He doesn’t know how true that is; the _Kot’tigaanu_ program exists for a reason, and that reason is that Mandalorians do not trust Jedi, and many Jedi do not trust Mandalorians.

Ima-Gun bows to the five representatives, who feel wary but determined in the Force. One of them, from Clan Deshra, steps forward and thrusts out a hand, their determination grim. It is a test, Ima-Gun knows it. Everything is tightly balanced, and this early in the program, one mistake could make the edifice collapse like a house of cards.

He clasps the Mandalorian’s arm, his grip tight enough to convey strength and determination, though he isn’t sure how they’d feel that through their armour.

_“Jetii”_ , they greet him, and he knows he’s meeting what amounts to leaders for the Mandalorians settled on Kuat, but they didn’t bother telling him who they were, or what their roles were.

“Ima-Gun Di”, he presents himself, even though they should know his name.

Probably know it and quite few more information the Jedi haven’t given them. They won’t trust easily, but he’s prepared for that. The Force approves quietly, nudging him forward. He breathes in, and settles. He might not know where he is going, but the Force guides him, and he will follow.

*

Jedi Master Jon Antilles is many things, but a teacher isn’t one of them. He has never taught anyone, doesn’t wish to. And yet, that is precisely what Master Diath has asked of him.

He would have said no, because the mission came from the Jedi Council.

He would have said no, had the Force not trilled so loudly around him, urging him forward. _This is where you have to be_ , it seemed to say. _This is important. You must do this._

Jon follows the Force, first and foremost, which is how he’s here, on an Outer Rim planet, with about fifteen Mandalorians around him, of diverse ages and many species. The youngest sits in her parent’s lap, and is barely a toddler, but the little girl already floats her things in her bedroom, and her parents are terrified.  
They have already lost one to the Force – to a vision they never came back from, and it is an ache etched into their soul.

The Force never meant to take them – the Force is neither good or evil, it simply _is_ – but it has, and the consequences are there. So, for better or for worse, Jon will teach them to be safe from their powers. To quiet their minds enough to control these reactions. To come back, when needed. To reach out, and help each other, since that is what they want.

He takes a deep breath. He might not be a teacher, but for them… For those in need, he will be.

*

Knight Reeft was bewildered when he received the mission file. He isn’t a Master, even though he is successful in his endeavour, so entrusting him with such a high-profile mission that is both diplomacy and relevant to the EduCorps seemed strange, at first. But then he read the actual mission packet, and he understood. Which is how he’s now standing on a desert-like planet in Tatooine’s sector, under Hutt control, in a Mandalorian Enclave.

Most of them are Death Watch and glare at him, though they make no move to attack, and a woman comes up to him. She has a toddler with green-tinged skin and dark red curls on his head in her arms, her beskar’gam pure white edged with silver and scarlet. He racks his brain to remember the significance of the colours – white for purity or new beginnings, which would make sense for a new parent. Silver for seeking redemption, and scarlet for defiance.

“You the Jedi?” she asks in heavily accented Basic, and he can’t quite place it.

Her words sound stilted, as though learnt by rote. He nods, and she straightens and places her child in his arms.

“Help”, she says. “He die.”

The words freeze him for a second, and then he feels the child’s presence in the Force – jagged, frazzled and oh so _powerful_ , it is a wonder he isn’t lost to the Force yet. The world, through the Force, blares at him and he winces painfully. It is no wonder the child feels so tired, his life-force so… _consumed_. He sits down right where he is, the child in his lap, and starts to build up shields in his mind.

The kid is asleep by the time he is done, and there are a dozen Mandalorians in a circle around him. Not to attack, but to protect – their backs to him, and attention to what is outside of their circle. Only the mother is sitting beside him, and her hands are trembling when she reaches out for her child and pulls him to her chest. Reeft tries to stand – and fails, the effort too much for him. He is exhausted, but at least, for now, the child is safe. He makes a wheeze of surprise when a Mandalorian crouches by him, slings his arm over their shoulders and scoops him up into his arms. The wheeze turns into a panicked squeak when the Mandalorian straightens up, carrying him apparently effortlessly, and he hears them snorting over external speakers. Yeah, he did _not_ mean to make this sound.

“Oh that was precious”, they say, mirth in their voice.  
“I’m a Jedi”, Reeft answers, miffed. “We do not get carried like princesses.”  
“What, you’d rather I throw you over my shoulder? You only have to ask, you know.”

It takes him an admittedly embarrassing long time to realize the arms carrying him belong to Death Watch, and really shouldn’t be doing that. The Mandalorian seems to realize his unease, which makes him think they might be Force-sensitive too – damn beskar helmet muddles everything, and he’s too tired for it anyway. They’re talking in Mando’a between them, and he doesn’t understand it, but he can pick up that the child’s mother definitely has a very thick accent.

“So, who are you guys?” he asks, trying for a smoothness between Quinlan’s and Obi-Wan’s.

To be perfectly honest, he isn’t sure it’s working.

“Your students, it would seem”, one of the Mandalorians replies – they are standing to the right of another Mandalorian who has a silver _beskar’gam_ and is very tall, which makes him think they’re some kind of alien species. “You will teach us, and we will translate for Kot and Ruusan. They don’t speak Basic yet.”

Kot is the tall humanoid towering over them, and Ruusan seem to be the child’s mother. He finds it strange, that Mandalorians wouldn’t know Basic. There is something here.

“Where are they from?” he asks, curious.  
“Stewjon”, the Mandalorian holding him replies.  
“Oh, like my friend Obi-Wan”, he says with a smile.

The whole group stills.

“A _Jetii_ Stewjoni?” the one holding him says, their grip tightening.  
“Well, yeah, but last I saw him he’d earned his vambraces”, Reeft replies, wondering where he went wrong.

There is an unnerving silence that convinces him they are talking over their internal comms. Ruusan thrusts her child into Kot’s arms and wrenches her helmet off with a snarl, bearing down on him. He half fears the one holding him will just drop him. He isn’t sure he could stand up again yet.

_“Gar kar’tayli Ori’n’ijaat?”_ she asks, her emotions a maelstrom in the Force.  
“She asks if you know the Great Shame”, his Mando – wait, no, the Mandalorian holding him – translates uneasily.  
“I have no idea what she’s asking about”, Reeft replies, his mouth dry.

Ruusan talks for a long time, and Reeft notices how Kot moves around her, how they hold her kid and bounce him gently, gauntleted hands brushing against round cheeks with obvious affection. It doesn’t seem far-fetched to think of them as a pair, and the child as theirs.

“They have a story to tell”, the Mandalorian carrying him says. “And you will listen, _Jetii_.”

And Reeft does.

Ruusan and Kot said their vows on Stewjon, nearly five years ago, and it took time before they were blessed with a child. Ruusan lost two before they were ever born – the wound still painful in the Force – and little Dinui was their last attempt. Dinui was – alas, in their eyes – born with the Force. Cursed, they thought. Their creed asked that they send him away with the warriors, to the galaxy, without ever knowing what became of him.

Ruusan couldn’t let her child go without her, and Kot followed her path – the two Mandalorians, one Taung, the other Stewjon – exiled themselves along with their child. But Dinui’s powers only grew, and they feared for his life – they feared, and prayed the _ka’ra_ not to take him too. That was when word came from the Jedi: that they were sending one of their numbers to teach control to Force-sensitive Mandalorians.

Reeft saved Dinui, and they are now indebted to him, as honour would have them do. He is also a bit boggled by everything he learnt in so little time, a bit _scared_ to see an actual, supposedly extinct Taung standing there with his child in his arms, but he knows one thing. The mission given to him is a good one, and he will see it to its end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Kot'tigaanu_ : Force-touched (ie, Force-Sensitive).  
>  _Kot_ : strength and/or Force. It is also, apparently, a popular Taung name.  
>  _Ruusan_ : reliable one.  
>  _Dinui_ : gift.  
>  _ka'ra_ : the stars / the past Mand'alore.


	20. Cin Vhetin - Part 11: The Senate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan takes his sons to the Senate. It... doesn't go as expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, I thought I'd never get this chapter done in time (I just finished it this morning after slamming most of it down yesterday).  
> Disclaimer: I really do like Satine as a character, but in this story, she is... not one of the good guys. (Might change later, might not, her fate isn't sealed yet).  
> Warning for implied sexual slavery, references to Anakin's past, and implied predator Palpatine.
> 
> *
> 
> CT-3381 / Skira, blind.  
> CT-3382 / Tracyn, deaf, blond, golden eyes.  
> CT-3383/ Runi, Nautolan.  
> CT-3384/ Naak, Togruta.  
> CT-3385/Haat, autistic.

Obi-Wan straightens Naak’s tunic, and checks that his vambraces are well in place. With that done, he puts on his own and dons his robes, stashing his children’s robes in a cloth bag he wears on his hip under his robes. Anakin is, for once, wearing his full Jedi tunics and robes, though Obi-Wan knows he is wearing thermals under them. Ever since he economised his monthly stipend to afford three sets of thermals, he has been wearing them under all his clothes.

Obi-Wan can’t deny how effective the change is: he who was always cold can now really focus on things, and his lightsabre skills have definitely improved. It is funny what six months can do; Anakin is closing in on seventeen years old now, and is – finally and inevitably – taller than him. His last bout of growth has left him quite gangly and in need of filling out, which means everyone around him is constantly feeding him. Not that Anakin protests, as a male teen, his appetite is absolutely horrendous.

They have both earned their shin-guards, _tadum’bure_ as they are called in Mando’a, matching their vambraces, training getting more brutal and weapons-focused. Obi-Wan, remembering very well Maul’s proficiency with a lightstaff, as taken to learn how to fight with the _bes’vik_. The shortened form, more often used than the technically correct form of _beskar’bevik_ , referred to a staff normally made of beskar, but far more commonly made of durasteel. It was a lot heavier than a lightsabre or a lightstaff, or even from a standard sword, and Obi-Wan doubts he will ever be proficient with it, but he feels the need to give it a try.

Anakin is being tutored by Elath Wren, who is teaching him how to use throwing knives. Obi-Wan isn’t really sure whether to be proud of terrified, but Anakin’s aim is extremely accurate and he now constantly wears his knives on his person. They talked about it and Obi-Wan knows the knives possession sates something feral in him, something scared and primal, a left-over from being a slave forbidden from touching or owning weapons. Obi-Wan can’t say he doesn’t understand, he who keeps hidden blades on himself.

Today is special, though. Today, Obi-Wan, with Anakin’s help, is taking the _Vod’ike_ to the Senate. He doubts he will be back to active duty soon, which means playing diplomats. He also wants his boys to learn about the Senate early. It has nothing to do with the certain presence of Senator Organa of Alderaan, nor that of Queen Amidala, who is on the last year of her last term. There is no doubt that she will remain in the political sphere, after her two mandates as Naboo’s Queen.

They take a speeder to the Senate Dome, where their status as Jedi grants them access at any time. It isn’t rare to see a crèche-master guiding his charges through the corridors, though it is not all that often, even if Obi-Wan’s sons are younger than most clans usually visiting. His sons wear younglings’ blue, which mimic Knights clothes while also being a lot simpler: leggings, a long-sleeved under-tunic, and a sleeveless tunic, all in tones of blue, with a brown sash at the waist. The grey plastoid of their armours complements it, vambraces, shin-guards and helmets dragging some attention. Obi-Wan’s own vambraces are mostly hidden under the sleeves of his robes, as are Anakin’s, so that only his shin-guards stand out.

The Senate isn’t in session that day, which means they can visit the Dome itself, his sons buzzing with excitement in the Force when they fly out the Jedi repulsor-pod. Senatorial aides stop by to discuss a bit, most Senators only nodding in greetings before going on their way. Obi-Wan finds Bail in his office, sitting at his desk and poring over paperwork for his latest humanitarian project. His face lights up upon recognizing him – they haven’t seen each other in literal years, both caught up in work, and Obi-Wan’s new role as a crèche-master meaning he rarely left Coruscant, if ever.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi! What a good surprise”, he says, saluting with an infectious grin. “My, and would that be your Padawan?” he adds in surprise, looking at Anakin, who bows in return – he doesn’t know him that well, having only met him twice as a young Padawan. “You surely have grown, Padawan Skywalker.”  
“I would hope so, Senator”, Anakin replies cheekily.

Bail’s gaze then lands on the five children huddled around Obi-Wan, Haat and Runi hiding behind his legs and clutching at his pants, while Skira, Naak and Tracyn stand in front of him. Skira has a defiant tilt to his chin, visible even with the helmet, and Naak puts on a brave front, even though Obi-Wan can feel his worry through their bond. They are not leaking in the Force, shielding themselves stronger than Jedi usually expect of four-years old human younglings, Anakin’s and Obi-Wan’s intense tutoring bearing its fruits.

Bail slowly crouches to be at their height, smiles pleasantly and extends a hand.

“And you must be the rumoured little Kenobis, aren’t you? My name is Bail Organa. Pleased to meet you.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t exactly hear the exchange going on between his sons, but he feels its echo in the Force, and can’t stop himself from smiling amusedly when Skira straightens his shoulders and steps forward to clasp Bail’s hand in a Mandalorian grip. He still communicates mostly in Mando’a, but he has now understood the need to use Basic with non-Mandalorians.

“It is an honour, Mr. Organa”, he enunciates carefully, Mandalorian accent seeping through lightly still.

Tracyn politely signs his own greetings in Basic sign-language, and Bail chuckles, before clumsily signing back his own greetings, making the kids giggle.

“I wasn’t expecting the helmets, though”, Bail adds, straightening up. “Those look… Mandalorians?”  
“Well”, Obi-Wan replies, grinning wryly. “We _are_ Mandalorians.”

Bail pauses and considers him closely, taking note of his _tadum’bure_ and his _korm’kre_ , then taking a look at Anakin, and then at the children again.

“This is unexpected”, he says. “I’m actually surprised the more traditional Mandalorians accepted you.”  
“I can’t say it was easy nor that it went without a few bumps, and I might not be sworn in yet, but I’m certain I did the right thing.”  
“That would explain the rumours of a Jedi-implemented program of outreach to the Mandalorians I heard”, Bail answered. “Mandalorian Jedi…” He looks pensive for a moment. “The thought itself is quite chilling, I’ll have to admit.”

Obi-Wan grins – the mere _concept_ of Mandalorian Jedi has most people getting goosebump – and ushers his sons forward.

“I mostly wanted you to meet my sons. These are Naak, Skira, Tracyn, Runi and Haat.”

Haat tentatively signs to Bail, who grimaces slightly and looks at Obi-Wan.

“I’m afraid my Basic sign-language is… very poor.”

He knows enough to recognize a greeting and answer in kind, but that’s all.

“He asks if he can hug you”, Anakin replies, his eyes trained on his brothers.

Bail blinks, surprised.

“Sure”, he replies, crouching again, and almost immediately finds himself tackled on by a small child, whose vambraces knock hard against his back. He carefully hugs back, startled, though not unpleasantly, and glances at Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan is sure there are a thousand questions going through his head at the moment, but he doesn’t voice them. When Haat releases him, Bail invites them to sit at the area with comfortable couches and has drinks brought to them. He is only mildly surprised when the children refuse to take their helmets off, especially when neither Obi-Wan nor Anakin urge them to. Obi-Wan knows that Bail is smart and won’t act rashly.

Eventually though, they leave to meet with Queen Amidala, whom they have warned in advance of their visit, as she is very busy. The tension Anakin keeps tightly leashed makes Obi-Wan want to gnash his teeth, and further convinces him that whatever attraction he harboured for the Queen has not disappeared.

“Is Queen Amidala Padmé?” Naak finally asks, looking up at Anakin, who flinches lightly.  
“Yes”, the Padawan answers. “How would you know that, though?”  
“I Saw her”, Haat replies, and both Obi-Wan and Anakin startle, this time.

They have never heard Haat talk. They know he physically can, but so far, nothing has made him use his voice, sign-language and projections in the Force more than enough for him to get around.

“When did you see her?” Anakin asks, voice tight, hiding his now trembling hands in his sleeves.  
“Many times”, Runi replies softly. “Padmé is family, she is always family.”

Obi-Wan worries, for a second, that Anakin might faint. Then the _always_ hits him. Possibilities, shifting with every new decision. He wonders why he never saw her in his own visions. Anakin straightens and does his best to calm his nerves as they make their way to Queen Amidala.

They meet her in a salon adjacent to her office, her handmaidens around her, regal as ever. She has grown since they last saw her on Naboo – not much in height, as she is still petite enough, but in beauty and wisdom. Her clothes and hairdo are as extravagant as ever, face hidden under the heavy make-up that allows her to use body-doubles. It is the real Padmé though, her eyes alight with joy at seeing them.

“Master Kenobi!” she greets them with a warm smile, and then does a double-take at Anakin. “Ani? My goodness, you’ve grown!”  
“So have you... grown more beautiful, I mean... and much shorter... for a Queen, I mean”, Anakin stumbles, radiating embarrassment, and his brothers giggle, which only make his light blush worse.

Obi-Wan has to hold back his need to chuckle – he distinctively remembers trying to be smooth himself, though he had been a bit younger than Anakin, and utterly failing. Only trying, again and again, has made him able to transfer his diplomatic skills to flirting. Obviously, Anakin isn’t there yet – in fact, Obi-Wan reminds a few painful times he has watched young Mandalorians hitting on his Padawan only to meet utter obliviousness.

 _Please kill me Master_ , Anakin whines through their bond, and it is even harder not to laugh at his Padawan’s predicament.

The Queen smiles and softly shakes her head.

“Oh, Ani”, she sighs. “And who might these young friends be?” she asks, setting her gaze on the _Vod’ike_.

This time, their shields are clearly failing, utter adoration pouring from them and into the Force. Obi-Wan really wonders what they Saw – or, perhaps, what Anakin might have said from his meeting with the young Queen. The five bow in perfect unison, which would be slightly eery were they not Jedi. Well, it _is_ slightly eery, Obi-Wan is just used to it.

“We are the _Vod’ike_ ”, Skira declares, stepping forward, and looks at his brothers. “I will speak for my brothers.”

Obi-Wan can’t say he is surprised, not when they have been doing that instinctively since they learnt how to talk and realized their habit of splitting a sentence between themselves, in Basic, Mando’a and hand-signs confused people more than it helped them communicate. They are quick learners and soon realized speaking one at a time in one language makes things a lot easier.

“These are my sons, Your Majesty”, Obi-Wan replies.

There’s a spark of surprise to Padmé’s Force-Presence, but she shows none of it on her face.

“I didn’t know Jedi could have children”, Padmé says carefully. “It is a pleasure meeting you, _Vod’ike_.”  
“The pleasure is ours”, Skira replies, and all five nod gracefully.

Obi-Wan discusses some with Queen Amidala, Anakin remaining conspicuously silent, until he abruptly stands up, extending a hand to one of his brothers – Runi, with the tip of his headtails peeking from under his _buy’ce_.

“Please pardon our departure, Your Majesty”, he says, bowing and taking Runi’s hand in his and leaving the room.

Obi-Wan merely smiles at them and nods lightly, which reassures Queen Amidala that there is no problem, and free to resume her conversation with the Jedi Master and his children.

Anakin holds Runi’s hand tightly in his, always scared that he might lose one of his little brothers in the crowd. He isn’t as scared in Little Manda’yaim – most _Mando’ade_ know his brothers by now, and even if they don’t, no Mandalorian worth their armour would harm a child. But this is the Senate, and, well. Anakin has _opinions_ about people in power, especially the ones who profit of others’ weaknesses.

It is, thankfully, easy to locate the public ‘fresher, though he does snort at how fancy they look. It’s a _fresher_. The lavish decoration and music playing just loud enough to cover most sounds to human ears feel a bit too much, though it is apparently to Runi’s fancy. Anakin checks through several stalls before he finds one adapted to smaller species or, as it stands, young children – the Senate had not been built with visiting children in mind. He ushers Runi inside, and closes the door behind him, though not locking it and standing guard before it. He does get eyed by a Zeltron who passes through, but no one questions his presence or activities.

“I’m dooone”, Runi calls from inside the stall, and Anakin stops himself from snorting.  
“Are your pants up?” Anakin asks before letting him out.

There a silence, and then _“’lek!”_ , followed by the sound of flushing. Runi comes out and Anakin is about to direct him to the lowest sink, when the door opens again and the Chancellor walks in. His face morphs into a smile, though it twinges a bit when he sees Runi, and he greets Anakin warmly.

“My boy! It’s been so long since I last saw you!”  
“Your Excellency”, Anakin replies with a bow. “It has indeed. I hope you are well?”  
“Perfectly, my young friend”, Palpatine replies with a flourish of his sleeves. “And this must be one of your brothers?”

Anakin nods at Runi to keep on washing his hands, the boy intently focused on the task of rubbing soap between his fingers, before he turns his attention back to the Chancellor.

“This is Runi”, he says.  
“You take such good care of your brothers”, Palpatine says. “It is truly in your honour. Such dedication…”

Anakin doesn’t show his unease, and instead nods lightly.

“They do need a lot of care, but I do it happily”, he replies, before picking his brother up and setting him on his hip. “This is, after all, what it means to be a Jedi.”  
“You are a staple of honour to your Order, Padawan Skywalker”, the Chancellor smiles. “Do try to visit me soon? I miss our discussions, I haven’t seen you in _months_.”  
“I’m sorry about that”, Anakin replies. “My training and family keep me very busy. I-”

- _shall do my best to come and see you as soon as possible_ , he intends to say, before he feels something _slam_ over his mind like a lid. The phrase falls to pieces in his mind and he realizes with a chill of horror that he has never _meant_ to say that, only to imply he would make time – he wouldn’t. Now that he has Dahl’s mentoring to direct him, the uneasiness he had started to feel at the Chancellor’s interest has raised its head. He still wonders how he could go with his mother’s advices and words of protection unheeded, he who knows fully well how twisted things could be. The Chancellor was always friendly and never did anything untoward, but he _has_ actively encouraged him to hide things from Obi-Wan, when he was still a child under his care and Obi-Wan should have known those things.

He doesn’t want to think ill of the Chancellor, and doesn’t think he would really care if it was about him. He was a slave, as far from innocent as could be. Watto might not have been a terrible master, he still had sometimes rented his mother on hard months – had implied Anakin would take her place once she’d grown too old, and him old enough. He knows what fate he escaped, he knows all the horrors he feared and wishes to spare his brothers from.

He pokes at whatever has slammed into his mind and recognizes a powerful, if clumsy, attempt at shielding his mind like he and Obi-Wan sometimes do for his brothers – like Obi-Wan sometimes still does with him when his shield fail during his training to get them stronger. He recognizes the signature of Runi’s mental presence, and it appears to him like a greenish watery shield over his mind, over his own shields. Cracked and blackened, fissured like someone has taken a battering ram to them. He has never seen them like this, like he hasn’t done maintenance on them in _years_ , and it disturbs him that he only sees it now through the lens of Runi’s own shielding.

He gulps, and tries to shake off the nausea settling in his gut. Something is very wrong and _Runi is in danger_.

“Please excuse us, Your Excellency”, he says, “my Master will be waiting for us.”

He bows awkwardly with Runi in his arms, and leaves the ‘fresher to find himself in the Senate’s corridors. He doesn’t know where Obi-Wan is, and with his mind frazzled as it is, he doesn’t dare reach for him through their bond. He powerwalks through the corridors, dodging Senators and aides with frightening ease, something dark looming over him – over Runi. He tightens his grasp on his brother, and brings his comm up, the device set in his vambrace.

“Anakin?”  
“Please come pick me up”, he pleads into the comm, “I’m at the Senate with Runi.”  
“…I’ll be there in five minutes”, Dahl answers, not asking anything.

That’s just the time Anakin needs to get out of the building.

There is turmoil in the Force when Obi-Wan nearly walks straight into Satine – he only realizes it is not _entirely_ because of her much later, when he reaches out for Anakin and feels their bond oddly blocked, when he sees the message from Dahl on his comm. Obi-Wan rocks to a hard stop, and so do his four sons, who have remained with him. They’re standing in one of the largest rooms of the Senate, rife with security cameras and exit points, but Satine is looking at him _now_ so it is too late to make an escape.

“Obi-Wan!” she greets him with a large smile.

He smiles pleasantly, trying to calm his racing heart. Years may have passed, but he once held much… _fondness_ for the Duchess, and he hasn’t entirely let it go. He isn’t exactly sure how he’ll react to seeing her again after all this time.

“Duchess Kryze”, he says with a proper bow, “ _su cuy’gar_.”

The corners of her mouth curve up at his casual use of Mando’a, though from what he heard, her government doesn’t use it, and she likely has very few occasions to speak it herself. Words she taught him, and the accent she transmitted to him.  
He has never spoken of the Duchess to his sons, and realizes belatedly he probably should have when they all surge forward in excitement.

_“Su cuy’gar, Mando’ad!”_ , Naak and Skira shout out while Tracyn and Haat sign it.

She only avoids a full-body flinch thanks to her training as a diplomat, and that alone raises Obi-Wan’s hackles. He has discussed politics with Sathi and come to the conclusion that while he liked her on a personal level, and the strength of her convictions and ideals, killing off Mandalorian culture certainly isn’t the way to achieve peace. He follows the _Resol’nare_ more than she does, and he is quite surprised to realize that it… hurts.

“Allow me to introduce you”, he says in Basic. “ _Vod’ike_ , this is Duchess Satine Kryze, who currently rules Mandalore.” He turns to her. “Duchess Kryze, these are my sons, Naak, Haat, Skira and Tracyn. There is also Runi, who is currently with my Padawan.”

She’s staring at him, and then at his sons’ helmets, and Obi-Wan can feel her feelings boiling over in the Force.

“Those are Mandalorian helmets”, she states.  
“Well, they _are_ Mandalorians”, Obi-Wan states as charmingly as he can. “ _Beskar’gam_ is part of the _Resol’nare_ , after all.”  
“Your _sons_.”  
“They are Jedi as well”, he adds belatedly, knowing people are always weirded out by the assertion of _Jetii Mando’ade_.

Satine bristles, the idea so completely _anathema_ to her, her eyes finally landing on his vambraces when his sleeves flop back and reveal them.

“Are you House Kryze?” Naak asks, staring up at her, and she looks down and into his visor.  
“I am”, she replies, and Naak eyes her up and down.  
“But you don’t wear your _beskar’gam_ ”, he says, many questions lurking in his voice. “Are you like _buir?_ Only starting on the path, so you don’t have a full _beskar’gam_ yet?”

The question is very pointed, and Obi-Wan knows his sons’ observational skills: they have certainly noticed the lack of _anything_ Mandalorian about Satine, save from the Mandalorian lilies in her hair. Not even a weapon visible. Obi-Wan knows she isn’t carrying anything lethal – maybe a stunt baton under her skirts, and he’s not even sure.

She crouches carefully.

“I am a New Mandalorian”, she explains with much more patience than Obi-Wan can feel in the Force. “That means I am a pacifist, and as such, I don’t wear armour nor use lethal weapons. Violence isn’t the answer.”

There is a collective gasp through the helmets speakers, and Obi-Wan readies himself for whatever destruction they will unleash.

“But the _Resol’nare!”_ they cry out in perfect unison.

She straightens up and glares at Obi-Wan.

“You have been teaching them the _Resol’nare? You?_ You who fought with me for a peaceful Mandalore?”

Obi-Wan crosses his arms.

“The Jedi were sent by the _Senate_ to protect you and support your regime. I thought you knew me enough to remember that while I whole-heartedly approve your ideals of pacifism, I am a _peacekeeper_. I want Mandalore to be stable and prosperous in its culture, not the watered-down version the New Mandalorians have shoved down your throat. What is so _wrong_ about the _Resol’nare_ , the heart of _our_ culture, that you had it discarded?”

She glares at him and, for a moment, it is just like old times, when they were both teenagers butting heads over ideals. But it is different, now – Obi-Wan feels personally wronged by how much of Mandalorian culture she has _purged_ , and were he feeling vindictive, he would call it a genocide. He doesn’t, though.

“So you would promote violence? Mandalore has suffered enough, its blood as drenched our streets and our soil, it is past time we have peace!”  
“Self-defence is _not_ violence, Satine”, he says through gritted teeth. “Mandalore deserves peace. I want it with all my heart, but there will be no peace with _Kyr’stad_ out there and you declaring those who follow the way _dar’manda_.”

Mandalore needs its _Mand’alor_ , he doesn’t say, but she reads it in his eyes. Once, she would have agreed – she would have followed Fett for what he represented – but no longer.

“And what would _you_ know about peace”, she spits out, “you who have brought violence everywhere you went? Tell me, Obi-Wan. Is the blood coating your hands really worth it?”

He knows what she means – the Death Watch he killed while protecting her, and so many of the missions he went on before that.

He can only think of Melida-Daan, of the children dying in his arms while he was unable to help, unable to do anything. Had he not acted, though, many more would have died. He knows it.

- _there is blood coating his hands from where he tried to stop the blood from gushing out, but the body was so small, it was drained all too fast. Something ugly rears its head then, something violent and primal because one of his children were taken from him. Someone has taken one of his children, and he could not save them. There is only blood and flesh tearing under his nails after, and the vengeance is not enough, it is never enough. The life was taken, and it won’t be given back._

“ _Hut’uun shabuir_”, Skira screams, “ _ke’ba’slana ner buir!”_

Naak holds him back while Haat and Tracyn crowd around Obi-Wan, patting his thighs and sides however up they can reach to bring him back to them. He jerks back into reality and lets out a breath of relief. Before he can do anything, though, Naak is stepping forward, his anger clear in the Force.

“ _N’ijaat ti gar_”, he says with as must disgust as he can summon. “You claim yourself one of us but you don’t wear armour and you don’t swear to the _Resol’nare?_ What kind of _Mando’ade_ doesn’t answer the _Mand’alor_ ’s call? You don’t spill blood, but you _kill our people_ , when you forbid them from defending themselves against a threat. You are _dar’manda_ , Satine Kryze.”  
“ _Gar dar’manda_ , Satine Kryze”, Skira repeats with much more heat, and Haat repeats it after him.

The Duchess is apparently struck speechless by so much venom coming from one so small, and doesn’t move in time to avoid the painful kick Skira delivers to her unprotected shin.

“ _This_ is why we wear armour”, the boy spits out vindictively, before pulling Obi-Wan by his tunic to guide him away. “Let’s go, _buir_. The air is _foul_ here.”

 _I have a feeling I’m going to hear of this_ , Obi-Wan thinks distantly before taking back the reins and guiding his children away. He only notices the comm message Dahl sent him then.

_I have Anakin and Runi with me in Jatnese, vod. You should come ASAP._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _beskar'bevik_ : (lit: iron-stick; shortened to _bes'vik_ ). Staff-like weapon made either of beskar or, more often, of durasteel.  
>  _tadum'bur(e)_ : shin-guard(s).  
>  _korm'kr(e)_ : gauntlet(s)/vambrace(s).  
>  _hut'uun shabuir_ : coward jerk.  
>  _ke’ba’slana ner buir_ : leave my dad [alone].  
>  _N’ijaat ti gar_ : shame on you (lit: shame with you).  
>  _Gar dar'manda_ : you are no longer Mandalorian.
> 
> Also yes, the fight only gets this vicious because this is personal for both of them.


	21. Cin Vhetin - Part 12: Jurkad.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan already lost a Master to the Sith. He won't lose a Padawan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For once, there is a problem I hadn't planned for BUT to which I have a solution. Also, heads up but there likely won't be any update next week bc I'm having a wild seven-days (unless I manage to write in the evening, but it is very likely I'll be too tired for that).  
> My inner Han, reading this chapter: _that's not how the Force works_.  
> Bonus points for Obi-Wan getting dragged by his own children.
> 
> *
> 
> CT-3381 / Skira, blind.  
> CT-3382 / Tracyn, deaf, blond, golden eyes.  
> CT-3383/ Runi, Nautolan.  
> CT-3384/ Naak, Togruta.  
> CT-3385/Haat, autistic.

Obi-Wan is at the _Jatnese_ in record time, and Sathi, along with Reve, herd his children out to let him go find Dahl. Hardly anyone could get past Sathi, but Elath is there and still decides to stand guard. Obi-Wan and him have a tentative agreement – while Elath can train Anakin, who is mostly an adult already, he isn’t allowed to be alone with the _Vod’ike_. His Death Watch leanings are enough for Obi-Wan to be wary of what he might say, and today’s clusterfuck with Satine makes him think he definitely wasn’t wrong in doing that, but should also, maybe, have a talk with Sathi. The Armourer can be pretty harsh, sometimes.

Dahl is upstairs, in his home, and the door opens when Obi-Wan pushes it. Runi is cuddled, sniffling, in the arm of an unknown _Mando’ad_ who has stripped off all their upper armour for better snuggles – the vambrace of blue and orange, though, suggests they are Dahl’s spouse, who had been off on a long mission. The rest of their armour is orange and erin – lust for life and lust for peace – and they radiate the kind of calm and deeply seated surety that make Obi-Wan sure Runi is safe with them, even though a first glance to the tall and broad Zabrak would suggest the opposite.

Runi is scared, but not in danger, though his shields are failing and feel way too frail. Anakin, however…

Obi-Wan feels a keen mounting up in his throat and stops it before it can pass his lips, and hurries to his Padawan’s side. Someone – Dahl, probably – has stripped him off his robes and armour, and rolled his bodysuit to his waist, showing sweat-slicked, feverish pale skin covered in goosebumps. He’s trembling and trying to curl up on himself, deep bleeding gouges on his arms and torso, which are probably the reason why Dahl is keeping him pinned to the thin mat he’s laid on. There’s a small basin on the ground next to him, mostly filled with bile, but the physical aspects are not the worst.  
It’s his mind that’s a mess, his shields in tatters, charred and nearly non-existent, like two energy-flares collided and left nothing but a desert behind, the force of the impact and released energy destroying everything in the vicinity. It takes him a moment to understand that this is what remains when one stands up directly to a mental attack, and it makes him sick. He reaches out for his bond with Anakin, and finds it frail and flickering, like his Padawan is… fading.

“We can’t find what’s wrong with him”, Dahl says, a light tremble of emotion in his voice, as though he’s trying to do his best to remain calm and collected but the situation is proving to be too much.

It’s probably what it is, Obi-Wan muses distantly, hands hovering over his brother. All his attention in the Force is focused on his Padawan.

“He was distraught but fine when I got him and Runi, but then we got here and he started to scream and claw at himself like he was in pain.”  
“He’s dying”, Obi-Wan whispers, cradling Anakin’s presence close to him and pouring his strength into their bond to strengthen it, strengthen him and keep him alive. “He needs a Healer”, he said. “I’ll hold him down. I need you to take my comm and call the Temple for me. I’ll give you an emergency code for Healer Naavri.”  
“ _’lek_ ”, Dahl replies, and they exchange their places, Obi-Wan holding Anakin down while Dahl takes the comm from his belt pocket and calls the Temple.

There’s a brief exchange in _dadita_ between Dahl and his _riduur_ , who nods and stands up, leaving the room with Runi cradled in his arms and slowly falling asleep. Obi-Wan takes a breath and does his best to calm down and enter a meditative state, giving strength to Anakin to hold on just a bit longer. Without any shields in place, and so much raw power, the world is all but blaring at the Padawan, overwhelming him completely, the pain of the attack made worse by that. Time loses meaning when one is with the Force, still, Obi-Wan is pretty sure Master Naavri broke many traffic regulations to get there so fast, and maybe treaded on a few armoured feet to get this deep within Little Manda’yaim when no one here knows her – or maybe he’s underestimating just how much change has already been brought to their relationship with the _Mando’ade_.

“Move”, the Healer says with the no-nonsense voice of medics, that most Mandalorians know intimately.

She kneels by Anakin’s head and hisses when she reaches out and meets his mind, her lekkus twitching in pain, but she holds firm and guides Obi-Wan to help her. A few minutes pass with no progress, every shield they try to make savagely attacked by Anakin’s innate defence – this is the mind of a former slave, attempting to guard itself against trespassers like a feral, injured and cornered beast. He lashes out instinctively, preventing them from strengthening him and his life-force, and Master Naavri growls.

“Damn this child and his stubborn mind”, she barks. “We need to cut him for the Force, _quickly_.” She looks up to Dahl. “Do you have that? Complete Force-suppressors?”

_Do you have the power to make one of our own completely powerless and leave us at your mercy? Do you have the power to save one you claimed as your own?_

Dahl nods and he’s gone. There’s the feeling of a scuffle in the Force, but it’s over quickly by swelling indignation, and Dahl is back with a Force-suppressing collar. The thing feels void and creepy in the Force, lined in beskar and something _else_ that gives it its power. Obi-Wan bits back a shiver at what looks too much like a slave-collar, and lets Dahl fasten it around Anakin’s throat. The effect is immediate: Anakin goes limp under their hands, his shallow and too-fast breath deepening as Master Naavri now uses the training bond Obi-Wan shares with him to channel her healing up to him. Anakin cannot feel them, but they can feel him thanks to the physical contact, and it is the only thing that saves him.

The Healer focuses on stabilizing him, nearing Force-exhaustion herself before she finally stops. He is far from healed, his mind still completely unshielded, but he won’t die from it. Obi-Wan lets out a breath of relief and sags down as Healer Naavri gives Anakin a sedative. Dahl brings them both glasses of water, and collapses beside them, hands hovering over Anakin like he’s afraid to touch him, but wants to make sure he’s alright.

“What _was_ that?” he finally asks, his voice croaking for a second.

Obi-Wan now has the energy to recognize part of what he saw, and his stomach twists. There is that same, dark oily feeling to Anakin that Maul left on Qui-Gon when he killed him. Obi-Wan has met Darksiders – he doesn’t let his mind wander to Xanatos or Bruck – but they don’t come anywhere close to real Sith. It is like comparing a shadow in a bright sunny afternoon to the darkness of a sealed room with absolutely no light. He brings a hand to his mouth and bites on his knuckles to keep himself from screaming. _There are always two._

Maul was a terrifying fighter, strong in the Dark Side, but he had been _nothing_ compared to the presence lingering on Anakin. Obi-Wan has not doubt that _this_ is what a Sith master feels like. He very much doesn’t want to meet them in truth. The Council hadn’t wanted to believe him then; he doubts they will believe him now… but the Sith’s known allies might. He looks up.

“This was a mental attack through the Force, done by a Sith Master”, he enunciates clearly.  
“No”, Master Naavri breathes, going pale and shaking her head. “It can’t be, they were destroyed, they were-”

But her gaze lands on Anakin and she _knows_ what she felt. Her breath hitches and she lets out a sound that is purely Togruta and reeks of fear, sending a shiver down Obi-Wan’s spine.

“It was a Sith I fought on Naboo”, Obi-Wan insists. “There are always two, a Master, and an Apprentice. No more, no less. One killed my Master, and the other tried to kill my Padawan.”

He feels anger, like he hasn’t felt since Qui-Gon died. Maul already took his Master, he’s not going to stand idly by while another Darth kills Anakin.

“Master _Kenobi_ ”, Master Naavri snaps, pulling him out of his thoughts.

He shudders at the anger coiling up within him, and gently brushes a hand against Anakin’s pale cheek.

“I’ll take care of him”, Master Naavri promises, and Obi-Wan glances at Dahl.  
“Olar”, Dahl tells him with a nod of his head.

They find his _riduur_ in the kitchen with Runi, the boy stubbornly refusing to sleep and the Zabrak whispering softly to him.

“This is Am, my _riduur_. I was hoping you’d meet in better circumstances.”  
_“Buir!”_ Runi cries out, reaching out for him, headtails twisting to follow his arms.  
“Oh, _ad’ika_ ”, Obi-Wan whispers, taking him and hugging him tight. “ _Udesii, ner Runi. Udesii. Ani’vod ven jahaala._”

Runi tries to bury his helmeted head in Obi-Wan’s neck, and Obi-Wan gives a hard look at Dahl and Am before gently pulling it off and putting it on the table. Runi is too distraught to really care, but Obi-Wan hears Am take in a sharp breath, his shock ringing in the Force. Obi-Wan cradles Runi’s head to his shoulder and rocks him slowly.

“Can you tell me what happened? After you left Padmé with Anakin?”

Runi sniffles and nods, hands tightening in his robes.

“We went to the ‘fresher”, Runi explains. “I didn’t forget to flush”, he adds, and Obi-Wan smiles and sends him approval into the Force. “Someone else came in. They were bad and Ani’vod couldn’t see it because they did something to his shields, so I did what you do for us and I shielded him. Ani’vod got scared and we left.”  
“Who was it, Runi? Who came in?”

Runi shakes his head.

“It hurts”, he whines softly, headtails retracting in fear.  
“Can I look, _Run’ika_?”

Runi opens their bond in answer, and Obi-Wan quickly finds the memory: of course it hurts, there is a hole where the person’s identity and identifying traits are supposed to be, the edges blackened and wilting. It is not difficult to soothe the hurt, and Runi relaxes, but there is no recovering from what the Sith Master did. The memory is definitely lost, and Obi-Wan doesn’t doubt that it’ll be the same for Anakin.

“There are cameras in the Senate”, Am points out, his voice surprisingly soft and low. His skin is a light shade of orange, black tattoos covering his face and most of what skin can be seen.  
“But not in the ‘freshers”, Obi-Wan points out. “Though, there might be one outside- _Osik_ , Satine!”  
_“Buir!”_ Runi says, indignant.  
“Sorry, Runi”, Obi-Wan replies, and pinches his nose. “For the love of- A diplomatic incident is the last thing I need.”

Am and Dahl exchange a gaze.

“If that’s alright with you, we have a room where your _adiike_ can sleep for the night”, Am says. “I’m sure there are many things you need to deal with.”  
“Starting with how I’ve apparently messed up with them somewhere”, Obi-Wan groans, but looks at Runi and breathes in before he can continue on his roll. “Thank you. It means a lot.”

Dahl nods and gets back down to gather the children, who crowd around Obi-Wan and Runi, demanding explanations. They have all felt the disturbance of their bond with Anakin, and but they are still young enough that reassuring them is quite easy. Obi-Wan sits them down around the low table in the kitchen, and they all look at him expectantly.

“I know you meant well with Duchess Satine, but you must understand that what you did was unacceptable”, he finally states. “I shouldn’t have gotten angry with her, but the way you talked to her was extremely disrespectful.”

They look at him, puzzled, and cock their heads aside. Runi has put his helmet back on already, so that five visors are turned to him. Dahl and Am are in another room, but not far enough that they wouldn’t overhear, and they are most definitely eavesdropping.

“She’s _aruetii_ ”, Naak replies, like it explains everything.

Obi-Wan can’t deny that. He called her a traitor himself, even if not in so many words.

“She hurt you”, Skira adds, viciousness laced in his tone. “She hurt you bad, _buir_. Self-defence is not allowing people to hurt you.”

Naak nods in support.

“ _Aranov, aliit, buir_. It’s in the _Resol’nare_. We protect our clan.”

Obi-Wan takes a breath. How to make them understand that _he_ defends _them_ , not the opposite?

“You know, they’re not wrong”, Dahl answers, and Obi-Wan glares at him.

He has stopped eavesdropping and is now leaning against the doorframe.

“You don’t even know what happened!”  
“ _Vod_ , it’s all over the ‘Net. People overheard, and someone hacked the cameras and spread the holo-vid. That being said”, he straightens, “you are right to think they took things too far. May I?”

Obi-Wan sighs and gestures him to go on. This is a nightmare, and he’s going to wake up and find out he fell asleep at Bail’s dinner table once again.

“Alright, _Vod’ike_. Do you understand why your _buir_ is upset?”

The children exchange within the Force, and nod.

“ _Buir_ is bad at letting others care for him”, Runi replies, and Dahl almost bursts out laughing.  
“That’s… I can’t argue with that, but that’s not the reason”, Dahl finally answers. “Your _buir_ is upset because your behaviour aggravated an already difficult diplomatic situation, and because you disrespected an adult. I know he has taught you respect of your elders, and I know you understand. I don’t like Satine either, but she _is_ an adult, and you are still _adiike_.”

Naak huffs, and Skira crosses his arms.

“There are things you will understand when you’re older”, Obi-Wan finally says. “Satine has her reasons for rejecting violence, wrong as her methods might be.” He hesitates for a second. “I have a hard time remaining calm with her, because there was a time I loved her”, he finally says, and feels Dahl’s attention turning sharply to him. “Do you understand?”  
“ _Elek, buir_ ”, they reply.

There’s a silence, and:

“I’m not apologizing, though”, Skira says. “She’s still a _hut’uun_.”

Obi-Wan sighs.

He very much doesn’t want to return to the Temple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _jurkad_ : attack, assault. Here, threat (derived from _jurkadir_ , to threaten).  
>  _'lek_ : for _elek_ , yes.  
>  _dadita_ : Mandalorian equivalent of Morse code.  
>  _olar_ : come.  
>  _Am_ : Change (mando'a). (Yes, he is named Change in Mando'a.)  
>  _Udesii, ner Runi. Udesii. Ani’vod ven jahaala._ : Calm down, my Runi [my soul]. Calm down. Ani will be well / fine.  
>  _Osik!_ : shit.  
>  _aruetii_ : foreigner, outsider, traitor. (Naak mostly uses it to mean traitor, though there is the undercurrent of both other uses).  
>  _Aranov, aliit_ : self-defence, our clan/family. Part of the Resol'nare.  
>  _hut'uun_ : coward.


	22. Cin Vhetin - Part 13: Aliit ori'shya tal'din

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's all over the 'Net, but on Kamino... On Kamino, Jango is the only one who knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! A day late because I literally had no time, but here nonetheless! I've had this chapter written for a while and I was still shuffling my chapters around, because those are all happening kind of simultaneously. In the end, I'm opting for this one coming out now because... I've been sitting on it for so long lol.  
> (...the next one isn't written yet bc, just as I thought, I had no time and what I managed to write was, like, 500 words for a prompt)
> 
> I'd also like to point out that there's a reason this Jango isn't quite as harsh as canon!Jango, or quite as removed from his clones, and it's totally because he knows the _Vod'ike_ lived. Had they not, he would have taken it as a complete failure and chosen to set himself and Boba really apart from the clones.  
> That also means his relationship to a certain _someone_ is different.

Jango can’t stop himself from smiling. His little boys are alive, and kicking. It took a year and some months before he got a real, hard confirmation of their continued lives, but he’d had no idea what they were like aside from rumours and hear-say. The video feed from the Senate is pretty clear – and the uproar in Coruscant even more so. He mourns the lack of a soundtrack, but the tabloids have had a field day building on snatches of what was overheard. He has to admit, watching a little clone of himself, even with a helmet, tear a new one at Duchess Kryze was pretty funny – even though the sight of his clones in _Jetii_ tunics and bits of Mandalorian armour is upsetting. But it’s what he signed for, after all.

_“Buir?”_ a voice asks, carefully, pulling him out of his thoughts and back onto the training he was giving to one of the _vode_ , as his clones call themselves. “You seem… happy.”  
“ _‘Lek_ ”, he replies with a nod, and goes over to a bench where water is available, as well as towels to wipe the sweat from his brow.

CC-2224, who goes by _Kote_ since Jango imparted the name to him, follows him and sits down as well. The others call him _Cody_ , which sounds closer to his own accent than the harsher sounds of _Kote_ , but to one not speaking Mando’a, it doesn’t make a difference. The clone cadet is a promising one, but at the moment he is at what was the most ungrateful part of Jango’s life. Being fourteen is… _haar’chak_ , it’s something he never wants to live again, and he bemoans that the galaxy has to suffer his puberty several millions times over.

He drinks and passes the bottle on to Cody, who looks parched, losing himself into his thoughts again. They survived. It’s incredible and, from what he saw and what he heard, Obi-Wan respected his wishes, going even beyond them. It’s somewhat a comfort to know there is at least one decent _Jetii_ – maybe two, since his Padawan seems to be following in his steps. Someone who isn’t like Count fucking Dooku, who was the Jedi Master responsible for Galidraan – his little stroll through the Jedi Archives to find Obi-Wan graced him with more intel than just the identity of the Jedi he would foist his clones upon. He glances at Cody. A clone of himself, bred for loyalty to the Jedi and the Republic, and who yet speaks Mando’a and will soon wear _beskar’gam_ to fight with his brothers.

“Tell me, Cody, can you keep a secret?”

Cody turns and looks at him like he’s just asked something especially stupid. Well, he walked right into that one, didn’t he? After all, he’s the one who put a stop to torture training, but not before Cody and his batchmates went through it. _Of course_ Cody can keep a secret if he can withstand torture.

“Let me rephrase that”, he allows, deeply amused by his clone’s irreverence so similar to his own. “I know you wouldn’t talk to the long-necks. Can you keep a secret from your brothers?”  
This time, Cody hesitates. And damn, Jango is proud. The kid is _at least_ taking the time to consider the question. At this age, Jango would have replied “yes” just to be in on the secret because he was just that curious. Cody is just as curious, but he’s learnt to think before he talks.

“If it won’t put them in danger, then yes”, Cody finally replies.  
“Alright. Listen here, _ad’ika_. Two years ago, I managed to save a batch of your brothers from culling, and evacuate them from Kamino.”

Cody’s face is absolutely hilarious, his mouth gaping open in disbelief. Jango is honestly surprised he managed to pull that off, too. He knows he won’t be able to do something like that ever again – he might have implanted a code that assured the Kaminoan scientists that the culling had already taken place, but it doesn’t change their _memories_. And yeah, he lied to Taun We’s face, but after this stunt, it’s been more difficult to talk and negotiate with them.

“Alright, I’ll bite”, Cody says after a moment. “What became of them?”  
“I sent them to the _Jetii_. One of them is raising them.”

Cody squirms, uncomfortable.

“But… You said you hate the _Jetii, buir_. Why would that please you?”  
“I do”, Jango agrees, “but the _Jetii_ are raising them as _Mando’ade_. There’s been an uproar since a Jedi youngling kicked Duchess Kryze’s shins after she got angry at their guardian for raising them following the _Resol’nare_.”

Cody’s eyes light up and scrunch with glee at the image.

“Our brothers”, he says with delight. “We have brothers out there, who are free and can use the Force.”  
“Exactly”, Jango replies. “Younger brothers, who won’t be ready in time… but they might well be your greatest allies.”

A silence.

“How did you choose which _Jetii_ you were sending them to?”  
“ _That’s_ what I’m being used as a cover for?!” comes a very unexpected voice, and both Jango and Cody flinch.

Wad’e steps out, bucket off and staring at them with a pinched look about it. Yes, he is pissed off.

“That Ben who pretended to be married to me so he could get chummy with the _Mando’ade_ and get help for his _ade_ , it’s the kriffing _Jetii_ you sent clones to? Why would you even _do_ that?”  
“Because it’s not right!” Jango growls, standing up, and sending Cody away with a look and a gesture.

The cadet scrambles away, leaving the Prime and the trainer staring at each other. Wad’e pinches his nose between two fingers and takes a deep breath.

“The _Jetii_ slaughtered our families”, he says. “So I assume you have a damn good reason for doing what you did. But I want explanations. Now, or I’m leaving.”

Jango stares at him, and lets out a sigh.

“Fine, but not here. Follow me.”

Once in his quarters, he pours himself _netra gal_ , and slides a glass to Wad’e. The man sits down, still glaring at him.

“I know you’re fond of them too”, Jango then says, softly. “Your trainees.”

Wad’e just glares harder, and Jango knows damn well why he chose that man for the _Cuy’Val Dar_. He’s always had a soft spot for children, a _Mando’ad_ through and through, but he’s also pretty ruthless and damn efficient.

“It was an impulse”, Jango finally says. “The _Kaminiise_ wanted to cull the whole batch. Two were perfectly healthy, they were just not human enough to make the cut. And they were all Force-sensitive. The _Jetii_ were their only chance, you know that.”  
“You have no regret, have you?” Wad’e asks, his voice low.

As an answer, Jango pulls up the video he’s been watching on loop of his little clones in Jedi blue tunics, with their plastoid _buy’ce, kom’rk_ and _tadum’bur_. Wad’e looks, absolutely fascinated, and starts cackling when the little one starts talking in his Jetii guardian’s defence, moving harshly as though he’s making aborted hand-signs. The _Jetii_ seems impassive at first glance, but Jango has watched this video enough to catch the minute twitch of his lips under his beard. Wad’e laughs even harder when one of the _ad’ike_ sends his booted foot into Duchess Kryze’s shin with surprising accuracy, for one so young. So much for Jedi impassiveness.

“Alright, alright. It was a huge gamble, but they’re clearly _mandokarla_.” Wad’e restarts the video, and pauses it, his eyes widening. “That _Jetii_ is wearing bits of armour, isn’t he?”

To be honest, Jango paid more attention to his children – he has looked at Obi-Wan enough to know that the children reflect the education he gives them. It’s been a year since he last went out and got in contact with the _Mando’ade_ to get the latest gossip, and he’d returned with the news of Wad’e’s marriage. So he circles the table and looms over Wad’e to look at the holo-vid, and swears.

Because there, hidden by the large, floaty sleeves of his Jedi robes, are gleaming, metallic vambraces.

“He is”, he confirms. “That’s new. _Jetii_ don’t wear armour.”  
“If the others didn’t know he’s a _Jetii_ before, now they sure do. I don’t care how you do it, but you make sure my _riduur_ is safe, so he can raise my kids properly.”

Jango eyes him.

“You do realize that he’s not really your _riduur_ , and they are not your kids? You’ve never seen them in your damn life!”

Wad’e crosses his arms.

“Are you really going to fight me on this?”

Jango sighs. No, it’s not worth it, and Wad’e is damn stubborn.

“There’ll be rumours anyway”, Jango eventually says. “I’ll tell you what transpired once I know, okay?”

Wad’e nods, and leaves the room. He’s never been the most stable, but he’s a good man. Jango is slightly worried, though, by his insistence that the kids are his.

They’re not his.

They’re Jango’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Aliit ori'shya tal'din_ : Family is more than blood (saying).  
>  _Kote_ : glory.  
>  _Haar'chak_ : Damn it.  
>  _netra gal_ : black beer.  
>  _buy’ce_ : helmet.  
>  _kom’rk_ : gauntlet, vambrace.  
>  _tadum’bur_ : shin-guard.  
>  _mandokarla_ : having the *right stuff*, showing guts and spirit, the state of being the epitome of Mando virtue.  
>  _riduur_ : spouse.


	23. Cin Vhetin - Part 14: Ripples

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sidious' attack on Anakin's mind has not only important after-effects on the Padawan, but ripples in the Force in a completely un-expected way... Fated to die are saved, and the Sith are revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol I'm late bc I was too busy writing porn. I slapped this entire chapter down today so if it feels messy, that's why.  
> Warnings for implied/referenced non-con and kinda graphic '"seizures"'.  
> Also uhm... If you wanna join, I've made a Discord Server for Deliver Us [here](https://discord.gg/WKfdvXT) I only ask you to be at least 16 to join, and only 18+ in the 18+ salon.
> 
> *
> 
> CT-3381 / Skira, blind.  
> CT-3382 / Tracyn, deaf, blond, golden eyes.  
> CT-3383/ Runi, Nautolan.  
> CT-3384/ Naak, Togruta.  
> CT-3385/Haat, autistic.

Obi-Wan is still there when Anakin wakes up, in the middle of the night. Master Naavri has gone back to the Temple after stabilizing him to make her report, and the children are asleep together. Dahl is keeping watch with Obi-Wan, but he hasn’t said a word. Anakin’s eyes fly open quite suddenly, his hands immediately scrabbling at his throat, a pleaded “no” falling from his lips in a litany. Obi-Wan grabs his hands before he can hurt himself, curling his own over them.

“You’re fine”, he says, “you’re alright, _Ani’ika_. Hey- You’re not there anymore, do you hear me?”

Anakin stops hyperventilating, his eyes focusing back on him, and leans into his touch with a shudder.

“What happened?” he asks, his voice hoarse.  
“Your mind got attacked by the Sith Master”, Obi-Wan replies gently, brushing his hair out of his face and cupping his cheek. “Runi protected you, but- We nearly lost you, Padawan.”  
“It does feel like it”, Anakin says, blinking sluggishly and gulping. “My head feels like a star-cruiser went through it.”  
“You’re not that far off”, Obi-Wan admits. “Master Naavri saved your life, but your mind lashed out. You wouldn’t let us build up your shields again, so we had to cut you from the Force entirely.”

Anakin gulps again.

“The collar?”

Obi-Wan nods, and holds him up slightly to make him drink a bit.

“Master Naavri said it… would take time for you to heal”, he adds gently. “We can’t take the collar off all at once, lest you go into shock, so it’ll have to be gradual, and you’ll have to build up your shields from the ground again.”

There’s a pained expression on Anakin’s face, and he closes his eyes and turns away.

“It feels like there’s some part of me missing”, his Padawan says, his voice soft and grieving. “Like I’m… Like I’m alone in the dark.” He gulps again, clenching his fists. “It feels like the dragon won.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t quite know what to answer to that. He has encountered Force-suppression devices, but none as… _thorough_ as the collar is. It is an ancient thing, that much is obvious, but well cared for, the metal shining. He has very little doubts that the device is originally Sith, and it is not surprising that it found its way into the hands of the _Mando’ade_.

Dahl kneels beside him.

“It’s alright if the dragon wins a battle”, he says. “Just… don’t let it win the war.”

Anakin takes a shuddering breath, and leans into Dahl’s touch, fingers clenching around the plates of his armour. Looking at him, Obi-Wan can’t help but think it’s obvious the man raised a child – a traumatized child. His _vod_ doesn’t speak of how he got his son, but he’s there, in many of his gestures.

“ _Ka’ra cabuo gar_ ”, Dahl whispers, and something- something seems to unwind in Anakin.  
 _The stars protect you_. No, not the stars, Obi-Wan thinks. The previous _Mand’alore_ , whose duty has always been to guide and protect the _Mando’ade_. Powerful, wise, diverse warriors of the past, still watching. It is not so different from the Jedi thinking that all go back to the Force. Obi-Wan smiles, a little ruefully. Elath has managed to infect him with his thoughts of similarity between the two.

“How is Runi?” Anakin finally asks.

And Force, he can’t feel him. He can’t feel him, cut off from the Force as he is.

“He’s fine”, Obi-Wan answered. “He got a real fright, but he’s fine. The attack was meant for you and you suffered the backlash.”

Anakin closes his eyes again, nodding, and murmurs a few words not meant for them. It sounds eerily like something Obi-Wan heard several times in the mines of Bandomeer – _Ar-Amu, watch over your children_. Obi-Wan doesn’t pry. He never did, he won’t start now. Like he knows not to take off the carved japur snippets his sons carry around their necks, deep under their tunics; like he knows to keep the one Anakin, barely out of slavery, had carved for him, close to his skin; like he knows there’s one bead on Anakin’s Padawan braid that doesn’t belong to the Jedi, but to something other.

He makes him drink again, feeds him some broth Am cooked earlier – something bland and smooth to settle his stomach, nothing like the usual Mandalorian cooking. This is also one of those things Obi-Wan doesn’t pry into, even though he recognizes the broth as one Anakin made for him and for the kids when they’re sick, or their stomachs in disarray. Anakin goes back to sleep, but Obi-Wan remains there. He remembers how frightening it was to be cut off from the Force, and he’s pretty sure it was never as absolute as what the collar does.

“I’m not sure I want to ask where you got this”, Obi-Wan murmurs. “But thank you.”

Dahl shuffles.

“Might have black-mailed Reau”, he replies, a bit sheepishly. “He was…”  
“He’s Death Watch”, Obi-Wan says, frowning. “And I’m about certain this is a Sith device.”  
“ _Mando’ade_ care little about bloodlines”, Dahl replies, “but the Reaus are known to be unstable. Some say it’s because they’re descended from Sith Lords.” He gestures at the collar, as if to prove his point. “I don’t know how true that is, but-” he grimaces, “all the ones I’ve met had a tendency to cruelty hardly matched.”

Obi-Wan tries to remember more about Iolar Reau, aside from the Death Watch colours on his armour. He’s the youngest child of the Clan Head – whose health has been failing of late – and next in line for the post.

“Iolar isn’t bad”, Dahl adds, pulling him from his thoughts. “Really. I’ve known him for a while and he does his best. He’s just… a bit screwed in the head, and it wouldn’t take much to make him go overboard.” He huffs. “Isabet disappearing on him didn’t exactly help matters, even though _she_ was raving mad.”  
“His older sister, right?” Obi-Wan asks.

Like Wad’e, Isabet just… upped and disappeared one day. There are whispers that some, like Isabet’s _buire_ , know where they are, or at least why they disappeared. Obi-Wan knows there’s something fishy there – the Force is too muddied up – but he can’t understand what it is.

“His twin”, Dahl answered. “Iolar will understand. He’s just… well, he’s got this kind of thing on him at all times”, he says, pointing at the collar. He pauses. “I think- He never said anything, but I think he was at Galidraan.”

It would certainly explain his need for defences against Force-sensitives.

“Dahl”, comes the sharp warning, and Obi-Wan jumps, surprised, only to find Am standing there, his arms crossed and looking warningly at his _riduur_.

Dahl tenses.

“I wasn’t- You know it’s weird! I just don’t understand how you two can be friends.”

This time, Am bares his teeth, the warning sharp and precise, and Dahl holds up his hands.

“Some things are not meant for you to understand”, Am retorts, “just to accept.”

Something prickles at Obi-Wan, but it takes him a moment to realize that this is the exact reason why Am managed to surprise him so badly: he’s Force-sensitive, and suppressing his presence effectively. The Zabrak’s eyes flicker back to him.

“If you want to meet Iolar, I’ll introduce you”, Am offers, “or Elath will, but don’t go on your own. You’d make him lash out.”

Obi-Wan is pretty sure he doesn’t want to see how a Mandalorian who carries and cares for old Sith artefacts would _lash out_ , so he nods.

“Will he really be alright?” He finally asks. “The collar…”

Am sighs, closes the door and sits besides them.

“Listen well. Unlike most Death Watch, Iolar doesn’t _hate_ Jedi. He’s scared. He-”

Something twists in the Force, leaving Obi-Wan trembling for a second. Am is already on his feet, running down the stairs, like he knows where to go. Obi-Wan follows, the Force all but yelling at him to go, Dahl on their heels. He finds Am down in the cantina, where only the latest patrons are gathered – that means three persons: the bartender, Reve, and the _Mando’ad_ in grey and yellow armour that Am is holding to the ground. The man’s helmet is off and he’s shaking, only held down by Am’s considerable strength, his eyes revulsed.

“Kriff, he’s seizing”, Dahl says, Reve already making her way to them so she can help.  
“-Vader, _dar’manda_ , kyber heart in beskar skin”, the man on the ground is muttering, “killed them all, they killed them all!”

The seizure then seems to gain in strength, blood seeping down the man’s nostril, and Reve growls.

“Fuck- We’re losing him”, she says, but there isn’t anything she can do, and Obi-Wan realizes with a start that this – this is not a seizure at all.  
“Let me”, he commands, and kneels beside the man, placing his hands over Am’s around his head, before sinking into the Force, reaching out for him.

He finds the man kneeling into a field of bloodied snow, looking shell-shocked at the bodies strewn around him. The field flickers, and for a moment, he sees something that looks a lot like the Temple. Another flicker – Sundari’s palace, the tiles bathed in blood. Another – armoured bodies everywhere. Another – the vacuum of space, of something that should be there but isn’t, and something _clenches_ in his stomach, reacting viscerally to the loss he hasn’t lived.

“They all died”, Iolar says, lifting his eyes to him.

He’s cradling the broken body of a _Mando’ad_ in his arms – a flicker, and it’s a teen he holds, with a cracked helmet. Another flicker, and this time it’s a Jedi Initiate, felled by blaster bolts. Obi-Wan fights the nausea against what he knows are mere possibilities.

“This is not real”, Obi-Wan says, and reaches out for him. “Iolar, this is not real.”  
“I _saw_ them!” Iolar snarls, and there is despair in that gaze, something deep that almost echoes in Obi-Wan.  
“I know”, he says. “But if you stay here and you die, you can’t do a thing for them. You must come back, _vod_. _K'oyacyi_.”

Iolar trembles and the Initiate in his arms disappears, replaced by the _Mando’ad_ once again.

“They all died”, he whispers, and Obi-Wan reaches out, takes his arms and _pulls_.

He opens his eyes to Iolar gasping on the ground, Reve and Am collapsing in relief and gently patting him.

“You’re fine, you’re safe”, they say, and Reve wipes a hand down her face and lets out a shaking laugh.  
“Your heart stopped beating for a full minute”, she says, “ _shabuir!”_

Iolar’s eyes flicker from her face to Obi-Wan’s, and- it’s no wonder Iolar is said unstable, when he’s a Seer so powerful he’d probably be on par with Master Sifo-Dyas if he hadn’t died. A completely untrained Seer, who has been repressing the Force his whole life and wrecking havoc on his mind and his body. It’s a Sith-damned _miracle_ that he lived this long – a little madness is expected, at that point.

Obi-Wan goes to pull away, shaking, when Iolar surges up and grabs his wrist in a hold so tight it hurts. His teeth are bloodied – he bit his tongue – and eyes blood-shot and rolling crazily.

“Stop them”, he says. “Promise me you will. Promise me you’ll stop the Sith.”

Obi-Wan clasps his hand.

“I will. Sleep, now”, he says, pushing the Force in his voice, and Iolar is too weakened: the suggestion takes control immediately. Obi-Wan pulls away, shaking. “Can someone”, he starts, “tell me why the _fuck_ this man isn’t in the _Kot’tigaanu_ program?”  
“For seizures?” Reve replies, doubtful, and Obi-Wan stares back.

There is a world between a trained Force-sensitive and an untrained one, and he forgot his Mandalorian siblings couldn’t necessarily recognize each other and are differently attuned. He carefully releases his frustration into the Force.

“No, for being a _Seer_. It’s a miracle he isn’t dead already, having visions so powerful! What he needs now is a Healer, and help from Force-sensitives.” He squares his shoulders. “Let me take him to the Temple. We have Jedi who can help him. _I_ can’t.”  
“Evaar won’t let you”, Reve replies. “Not his heir.”  
“He might not keep his heir if we don’t get him professional help quickly”, Obi-Wan retorts. “Listen, this was a vision he had. He sees future possibilities. Visions drove a trained _Master_ to madness, and Iolar has none of it! He was _stuck_ in that vision, would have fallen into a coma and _died_ , and without training and help, it is very likely to happen again!”  
“Evaar is a staunch defender of the Stewjoni faction”, Reve snaps back. “Tell him his heir is Force-sensitive and you’ll get yourself _killed_.”

Obi-Wan grits his teeth. He doesn’t understand how a culture so centred around family and children can just… dismiss those same children if proved Force-sensitive. It’s probably not the only thing strange about the Stewjoni – at least, regular _Mando’ade_ only consider it like some health ailment they have to deal with, not a curse. He takes a deep breath. He’s not a Healer, but he’s pretty sure Iolar is close to breaking – and isn’t it ominous that he had this powerful vision just when the ripples of the Sith attack on Anakin would have reached him, also coinciding with his accidental meeting with Satine. Iolar needs help, more help than the program would give him.

“If Isabet can disappear, then so can Iolar”, he says finally. “I’m taking him back to the Temple.”

Beside him, Am takes a deep breath.

“Anakin was attacked by the Sith. That’s what you said. And Iolar just talked about them.”  
“But the Sith are legends!” Reve bites back. “They’re dead and gone, everyone knows that!”

Am shudders, and blinks.

“Do the Jedi believe that too?”  
“…Yes”, Obi-Wan breathes, and closes his eyes. “My Master was killed by a Sith Lord, but because we wouldn’t recover the body and I was the sole witness, because it’s a reality too terrible to contemplate… No one is willing to admit that they’re back.”

Dahl has stilled.

“The Sith”, he says, and licks his teeth, thoughtful. “You can’t fight against something if you can’t admit the threat is real… which I assume would be the point.”

Am stands up, and picks Iolar off the ground to throw him over his shoulder.

“You will save my friend”, he says, “and I will speak to your Council.”

Dahl then shoots to his feet.

“Am!” he hisses, but Am holds a finger up.  
“It is my decision”, he says. “Besides, how many times have I told you there are no coincidences?”  
“Too many times to count”, Dahl breathes, and kisses him gently. “Let the children sleep. I’ll bring them back to the Temple tomorrow”, he adds for Obi-Wan.

Both Iolar and Anakin sleep like the dead while Am and Obi-Wan take the speeder back to the Temple. They are both settled in the Halls of Healing, and Obi-Wan isn’t exactly surprised to learn that despite the very late – or very early – hour, the Council is still in session. Bant, on night rotation in the Halls of Healing, lets slip that Master Windu has a massive headache due to several shatterpoints breaking in succession during the day, and that doesn’t exactly ease his mind.

The sight of Am within the Temple is… strange. He is massive, especially in his full armour, but the way he seems to curl in on himself the farther they go, the way he makes himself small and unnoticeable bother Obi-Wan.

“Your Master was killed by a Sith”, he says finally as they resume their trek towards the Council chamber. “And you killed that Sith.” He pauses, and looks at Obi-Wan. “Do you, per chance, know of their name?”  
“He was called Darth Maul”, Obi-Wan replies, and there is a spike of grief in the Force – not, he notices, from him, at the reminder of his Master’s death, but from Am.

Am doesn’t say anything more, but follows him to the Council chamber. They aren’t made to wait long, but it is obvious that Am is uncomfortable. The Mandalorian stiffens even more when he takes a look at the Council, but strides in after Obi-Wan.

“Master Kenobi”, Yoda greets him, “a friend, you have brought? More trouble, for us you have?”  
“The Senate wants your head”, Master Windu adds. “Luckily for you, we have stated that this was not a Jedi matter, but a Mandalorian one we had no power over.” He leans forward. “Were it any other day, we wouldn’t have been so lenient, but your Padawan’s misadventure makes us think there are more important things than a single ruler’s feelings on how you raise your children.”

Obi-Wan is almost tempted to smile, but there _are_ more troubling revelations afoot.

“Anakin is back into the Halls of Healing”, he replies, “along with a Mandalorian Force-sensitive who needs help from Jedi Healers.” He pauses. “He’s a Seer, Masters, I dare say as powerful as Master Sifo-Dyas was.”

They collectively take in a sharp breath. Seers are a complicated matter – an untrained, Mandalorian one reads like a disaster waiting to happen.

“A vision, this Seer had, mmh?” Master Yoda asks.  
“He asked me to stop the Sith, Masters”, Obi-Wan quietly reveals. “Considering it was a Sith who attacked my Padawan today, I’m taking this matter very seriously.”

There isn’t a word replied. They all know what he thinks about the Sith, and he knows their opinion. Am then steps forward, his Force-presence so tightly curled it’s like he’s not even there.

“It is my understanding that fighting the Sith is a Jedi’s sacred duty”, Am says.  
“It is”, Master Windu replies. “Who are you, and how do you fit in all of this?”  
“I am called Am, of House Mereel, Clan Mev.”

Obi-Wan feels the world tilt a little. Very few Clans dare call themselves House Mereel when the True Mandalorians are mostly gone, and while he knows Clan Mev was House Mereel, the fact that Am stated his House before his clan makes it clear it is a personal alignment. More than that, Am all but stated that Jango Fett is the _Mand’alor_ he recognizes.

“And I have come to warn you. The Sith are back.”  
“And how would you know that?” Master Tiin asks, staring back at him.

Am takes a breath.

“Because when I was a child, the one calling himself Sidious took one of my brothers as his Apprentice.” Another spike of grief. “He was called Maul Oppress, and the last time I saw him, he barely knew how to say his name.”

This time, Obi-Wan nearly collapses. He cannot think of the monster who killed his Master as a child taken from his home, to be raised by a Sith.

“Start from the beginning, you will”, Yoda says, and Am nods and casually kneels in the middle of the chamber.  
“I was born amongst the Nightbrothers of Dathomir”, he states, “under another name that I have cast aside.”

Eeth Koth startles at that, peering at him with more attention. Obi-Wan guesses there must be more to this simple statement of where he was born than simply a planet.

“Nightbrothers are raised together, no matter who birthed us. I call Maul my brother, as it is what he was, though we share no blood. He was the eldest of three brothers, and barely a toddler when Mother Talzin brought the Sith Lord to us. Lord Sidious had bargained with her to pick his Apprentice amongst us, and he chose Maul.” He shakes his head. “Do not ask me about his face or his name – the memory was taken from me. But I remember the feeling of his presence, how cold he turned the air, how shaken to my bones I was. I didn’t know what had become of my brother until Obi-Wan told me about the Sith he killed; but I know of another one, called Darth Tyrannus. Their name is all I know.”  
“Mmh. Darksiders, the Dathomiri are”, Master Yoda says.  
“I wouldn’t know”, Am replies. “Magicks are for the Nightsisters. Mother Talzin called it a unique chance for Maul, to rise above his condition. Had he not been picked, there is no doubt he would have followed the same path I did.”  
“Dathomiri are all Force-Sensitive”, Master Koth replies, sounding slightly strangled. “Dathomir itself leans toward the Dark, but the Magicks used by the Nightsisters are unique to their convent.”

Obi-Wan feels Shaak Ti’s attention, gently poking at Am’s presence in the Force.

“The way you hide yourself without being trained is impressive”, she says, and Am casts his eyes to the ground, shaking slightly.

His fingers are curled so tightly against his armour, Obi-Wan hears it squeak. He’s surprised when Master Koth rises from his seat, and kneels before Am, taking his hands in his.

“Do not see anything more than a simple appreciation for your skills from Master Ti”, he says softly. “We are not like the Nightsisters; none of our women will take you to her bed against your wishes.”

Am takes in a sharp breath, and nods slowly. Obi-Wan feels faint, and he cannot truly say from which of the news it is. He just sure of one thing: he really, really doesn’t want to pry in Am’s background, if this is what he will find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _K'oyacyi_ : (here) come back safely / stay alive.  
>  _shabuir_ : jerk (or here, rather "asshole").
> 
> NB: Anakin's sentence, "it feels like the dragon won", is a ref to the _Revenge of the Sith_ novelization.  
> Also, most of the references to slave culture are based on what fialleril wrote.


	24. Cin Vhetin - Part 15: Anakin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin reacts badly to being Force-blind in the heart of the Temple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is late, I had most of it ready yesterday like, only a tiny bit left and I went "I'll finish it tonight and then post it" but then I had a Shower Idea to share and my best friend to help with some fiction information to gather... Anyway, here it is now.
> 
> *
> 
> CT-3381 / Skira, blind.  
> CT-3382 / Tracyn, deaf, blond, golden eyes.  
> CT-3383/ Runi, Nautolan.  
> CT-3384/ Naak, Togruta.  
> CT-3385/Haat, autistic.

The search for Anakin starts two hours before dawn, the Council not even yet out of its chambers. Bant and Master Naavri are both distraught that they can’t seem to find him. The Padawan disappeared on them between rounds, and now they can’t find him. They sent a team searching for him, but after the first half-hour had passed, they contacted Obi-Wan.

With Anakin cut from the Force, it’s like a supernova has burn out – they cannot feel him, and he cannot feel them. Only Obi-Wan, with his access to their strained training bond, holds a chance to find him, but he grows more worried as time passes and he doesn’t find him. He has no idea where his Padawan has gone to – he’s rarely distraught enough that a spar cannot help settle him, or the ear of one of his friends. But no one has seen him – none of the Masters who were in the Council chambers, not Kit Fisto, and, when Obi-Wan calls, not Dahl.

What worries Obi-Wan most is Anakin’s lightsabre. He hasn’t taken it with him, and that in itself would be worrying, but… But it was deeply embedded in one of the Halls of Healings walls, the kyber shattered inside, and no healer noticed it. Without access to the Force, no one can get a read on Anakin’s mood, and if it truly is him who threw his lightsabre with such strength… Obi-Wan is worried. This day has, so far, been an endless nightmare, and with his call to Dahl, now even the Mandalorians are on edge, waiting for a sign. Almost the whole Temple is searching now, even old Masters like Master Sinube, or Cin Drallig - the battlemaster -, and the younglings, in little groups of three with a tracking device so the crèchemasters don’t lose them as well.

“Master Kenobi!” a shrill voice calls, and Obi-Wan recognizes a Togruta Initiate, running towards him at full speed, covered in cobwebs and out of breath.  
“Initiate Tano”, he replies, coming to a stop, only noticing now that he’s been pacing.  
“I found him!” the girl says, excited to have done so, but- but there’s an edge to her voice.

Still, it’s a relief.

“Show me the way”, Obi-Wan says, and runs after her.

She’s fast and nimble on her feet, already showing skill – she’ll make a valuable Knight one day, Obi-Wan is certain. She takes him deep down in the under-levels, abandoned and disused but not condemned, though Initiates are forbidden access – or at least, they have been since Bruck… Well. There were reasons security measures have been put in place. She rushes down flights of stairs, raising a thick cloud of dust on her path, and Obi-Wan wonders how Anakin went this far, this deep.

“He must have taken another path, but I don’t know it”, Initiate Tano replies to his musing. “There were no traces of his passage.”

He is not surprised she found him – Togrutas are hunters by nature, and Master Ti makes a point on honing younglings instincts before they become Initiates. She’s not the only Jedi Togruta to do so, but she is, by far, the most involved. Her love for younglings is obvious.

“Here, Master”, she says with a hush, abruptly coming to a stop.

They are near the wellspring that makes the heart of the Temple, close to the planet’s surface, in a long, narrow corridor only lit by emergency lights. Not made for everyday life, but for escape, should the Temple be attacked. Obi-Wan looks around, but doesn’t see anything. Anakin’s presence, though, seems a bit stronger in his mind, through their strangled bond. It is a testament to his Padawan’s strength in the Force that he can even feel him with such a collar on his neck.

“Up”, Tano prompts when she notices that he doesn’t see Anakin.

And there he is. His tall, gangly Padawan has wedged himself in a narrow space that must have once been vents, and he is curled up in a ball, hands on his ears and tightly clasped at the back of his head, eyes wide open and unseeing. Obi-Wan almost stumbles, but he steadies himself and calls a stool to his hand, so he can climb and be of height with his Padawan.

“Anakin”, he calls, doubting that he can hear him. “Call Master Naavri”, he says to Initiate Tano, whose eyes are full of tears at the sight – she’s frightened, he can tell, but she also needs something to focus on, something to _do_.

Very carefully, he prods at his Padawan, who flinches hard and almost knocks himself out against the ceiling. Those wide, frightened blue eyes turn to him, grow wider, and Anakin promptly wedges himself deeper into his corner.

“Stop haunting me!” he calls in a grieved voice. “Leave me alone!”

A whimper – the distraught cry of a wounded animal – and Obi-Wan’s heart aches. It aches even more when he notices, above the collar of his clothes, the Force-suppressing collar and the deep scratches on the skin, the blood dried already.

“Anakin, please. You can come out, now. There is no danger here.”  
“You’re not real”, Anakin replies, his voice hoarse. “You’re not real, I know you’re not- Please leave me, Master, please.”

Oh, Force. He thinks he’s hallucinating. Master Naavri arrives then, and there is Am in tow. Her arrival prompts another whimper from the young man, but Am pushes forward and comes to a stop by Anakin’s hiding place. He speaks slowly, his voice soft, nearly purring, and Anakin stills and listens. It is not Mando’a, Basic, Ryl or Hutt – it is that language Obi-Wan doesn’t know the name of, that reaches someplace deep within Anakin that no other language can. Obi-Wan can’t say he’s really surprised Am can speak it – not when he and Anakin make the same broths, not with the way he cowered under Master Ti’s gaze.

Eventually, Anakin replies, nods, and slowly crawls out of his hiding place, palms scraped and bloodied. Am reaches up, grabs him under the arms and hauls him out, and Anakin clings to him like an overgrown tooka – or, a bit more accurately, like a frightened child. Obi-Wan notices that he’s shivering, and promptly drapes his cloak over him – Anakin shivers harder, and buries his face in the fabric, wracked by heavy sobs, and whispers a word, again and again. Am seems to be carrying him without breaking a sweat, and while Obi-Wan knew Zabraks are strong, it is yet another thing to notice it first-hand.

Anakin reaches out to him with a watery smile, and Obi-Wan pulls him into a keldabe kiss, squeezing his nape reassuringly.

“I can’t feel you”, Anakin whispers. “I can’t feel anyone. I thought… I thought my vision had come true and you were all dead.”  
“I’m sorry, dear one”, Obi-Wan breathes. “I’m sorry, you must keep the collar…”

Anakin nods, wiping his tears, and Am puts him down on his own two feet. The trek back up is long and slow, but Anakin gradually calms down. It obviously jars him, though, to see the bustle in the Temple and not have expected it. He pales obviously, shaking again.

“I can’t…”, he gulps, “I can’t stay here with the collar on. It feels too much like- Like-”

Obi-Wan thinks of another vision – of the Temple filled with the corpses of its occupants, from the younglings to the elders – one he only caught a glimpse of, and he nods. He imagines what it would be like to be back on Bandomeer, and the thought alone is unbearable.

“Dahl and I will take him in until he recovers enough to come back home”, Am declares.

Obi-Wan appreciates both the offer, and how he recognizes that the Temple is their home. How he has no pretention to usurp Obi-Wan’s place, but simply offers help, like- well, like _Mando’ade_ do with their _aliit_. He calls Dahl his _vod_ , and Dahl is married to the Zabrak. By the law of many cultures, but Mandalorian especially, that makes them family.

“I appreciate the offer”, Obi-Wan replies. “Anakin?”

Anakin nods.

“I’ve been training with Force-suppressors. It… It won’t be much different.”  
“I’m sure Dahl will put you through your paces”, Am replies with a smile, before turning to Master Naavri.

The change is astounding. His shoulders rounds under his armour, head bowing, eyes cast down.

“Master Jedi”, he adds, “you will be welcome to see to his health, of course.”

Master Naavri smiles, carefully not showing her teeth.

“Thank you, _Mando’ad_ ”, she replies with an accent that would have made the _Vod’ike_ snort. “I will be by regularly. Remember, the collar mustn’t be taken off, no matter why. That would kill him.”  
“I understand, Master Jedi. We all know better than to ignore the _baar’ur_.”  
“Come here”, Obi-Wan adds on the side, opening his arms to his Padawan, who tucks himself against him, despite being a full head taller.

Obi-Wan squeezes him tight, giving as much comfort as he can, reassuring him that he is alive – that they all are.

“Was it you who threw your lightsabre?” he finally asks in a hush.

Anakin tenses for a second.

“I- I was scared if I ignited it, it would be like my vision”, he whispers. “Sith red.”

Obi-Wan allows himself a flash of anger, that the Sith would be so arrogant as to hurt his Padawan in all those ways. With Anakin’s status as the Chosen One, meant to bring balance back to the Force, it shouldn’t be surprising that the Sith see him as a threat to be dealt with.

“Never fear”, Obi-Wan finally replies. “I’d catch you if you Fell.”

That gets him a vaguely amused snort, and his Padawan pulls away. He looks terrible, with his hair mussed up, Padawan braid in disarray and robes askew over his thermals. He would look worse, laid out on a pyre. Obi-Wan prefers him alive.

“If you think you can use this to get out of training with your katas, you’re wrong”, he adds. “I’ll bring you a training sabre.”

He accompanies Anakin and Am to the landing area, and they don’t wait long before Dahl arrives, bringing back the _Vod’ike_ who all swarm Anakin and hug him tightly. Am bends over the speeder, tightly pressing his forehead to Dahl’s, who reaches out and squeezes a trembling hand.

_“Udesii, cyare”_, Dahl whispers. “Let’s get you home.”

Am nods, and motions Anakin to take place in the speeder, to Dahl’s surprise.

“We’re babysitting”, Am says with a weak smile.  
That’s enough explanation for Dahl, and Obi-Wan watches them speed away, before turning his gaze to the Senate. Where the Sith cornered his Padawan. Nearly killed his brother in all but blood. Would have probably killed his _son_. He has to take several deep breaths and release some of his anger into the Force before he can move, his bonds with his sons buzzing comfortingly.

“ _Buir_ ”, Runi asks after a while. “Will you go after the bad one who hurt Ani’vod?”

Obi-Wan crouches, and they gather in a circle around him.

“I won’t”, he replies, though he wishes he would. “Do you understand why?”  
“Because we need you”, Haat signs with surprising insight.  
“Because you’re scared”, Skira adds, and Obi-Wan knows that under his helmet, his son’s expression is mulish and sullen.  
“You are both right”, Obi-Wan replies seriously. “Chasing after bad people is for Shadows and field-Jedi, not crèche-masters. I am not strong enough to fight this bad man”, he admits after an hesitation, but- it would be wrong for his sons to think him flawless, even though at their age they clearly hero-worship their _buir_. “I’m scared about what this bad person might do, about you and your brother being in danger.”  
“But you’re not scared about anything”, Naak protests in disbelief. “You’re the bravest person I know!”  
“Quite the opposite, I’m afraid of many things”, Obi-Wan says. “What you must remember is that true bravery isn’t the absence of fear; only fools are never afraid. It comes from knowing fear, and acting as you must in spite of it. _That_ is what courage means. Fear is an instinct, an emotion we can’t control. A true Jedi, however, don’t let themselves be overwhelmed by it. They release their fear into the Force, follow its will, and have faith that everything will turn out for the best. It is in the Code – _emotion, yet peace_.”

Obi-Wan feels, in the Force, Runi’s lips tremble under his helmet.

“I’m not sure I can be brave, _buir_. I can’t be a Jedi if I can’t be brave.”

Obi-Wan cups his helmet in his hand.

“I have faith that you will be a great Jedi”, he says. “You still have much to learn, but you were brave when you protected your brother. Bravery has many faces. And if you can’t be brave, we can be brave for you, until you’re strong enough to be brave yourself.” He looks at them, staring straight into their visors. “Your strength lies in the Force, and in your unity. Always remember that you’re stronger together.”

Almost a week has passed when Master Naavri decides it is time to pass Anakin onto a slightly weaker Force-suppression device. Most of that time has been dedicated to gathering artifacts of that nature, of ranging efficacity, to allow a gradual acclimatization. It is the standard procedure, when a device that strong is used for more than twenty hours, but it is doubly needed as Anakin has all his shields to rebuild. Iolar Reau is in a medically induced trance, while the Healers work on repairing the long-lasting damage he made to himself, physically, mentally and spiritually, by suppressing his Force-sensitivity so long.

Obi-Wan, still, finds his Padawan clearly improved – he doesn’t look all that different, though he is slightly jumpy and less graceful than usual, despite his Mandalorian training. He hasn’t known Am for long, but it is clear the shared past experience helped them build trust far quicker than with anyone else. As it is, when Obi-Wan and Master Naavri arrive, Anakin is seated around a game of sabacc down in _Jatnese_ , with Am, Dahl, Elath Wren, Assri Mev, Reve Bralor and three of Anakin’s recent friends – a pair of adopted brothers, one Twi’lek, the other Arcanian, and a crimson-skinned Zeltron who was, despite the game, clearly batting her eyelashes at his oblivious Padawan.

“Gambling?” Obi-Wan says, with a quirk of his eyebrows, and they all smile at him.  
“Well _someone_ has to teach your _hibir_ properly”, Elath teases. “I fold”, he adds.

Assri looks up at Obi-Wan, twitching her lekku.

“With how good you’re at this game, I expected your brother to at least be _decent_.”  
“And instead, they have discovered that Ani’ika can’t lie to save his ass”, Dahl adds, clearly amused.

Obi-Wan feels his mouth twitch into a smile.

“So you all decided to teach him to lie convincingly?”  
“He’s not a lost cause yet”, Reve replies. “He understands the game and would be good at it otherwise.”

And it helps that she can’t read his emotions in the Force, with the collar suppressing it.

“What are you all gambling with?” he finally asks, looking at the chips representing what they brought to the table, and seeing nothing equating it. “I doubt my Padawan owns anything of much value to you, aside from his lightsabre and his armour, which I hope you’re not lawless enough to accept as a bet, and him foolish enough to offer.”

They take his chiding as it is meant: a gentle teasing – though Reve’s presence at the table still surprises him. She got friendlier lately, but she’s still Death Watch – and clearly following Elath’s lead, as the elder from that faction sitting at the table. The teens, he knows are Old Clan, the brothers being of Sathi’s clan, and the Zeltron, of Dahl’s. Whether she just expects to flirt and maybe bed his Padawan, or if she seeks to form an alliance between the _Jetii Mando’ade_ and her clan through _riduurok_ , he doesn’t know. Either way, Anakin hasn’t noticed a thing – he hardly did with the Force but now, Force-blind as he is, she’d have to kiss him fair and square for him to get a hint, which Obi-Wan finds horribly amusing.

“Alcohol”, Dahl replies, “information”, he adds, pointing at his _riduur_ , “mech skills” for Anakin, “credits”, for several of them, “durasteel armour”, and “a pair of blasters.”

He settles down, Master Naavri following his lead, and they watch the game unfold. Anakin is, indeed, abysmal at lying and deceiving, but he’s making an effort. To no one’s surprise, it is Am who wins – he has, by far, the best Sabacc face, even though Obi-Wan has never seen him anything other than earnest. They part, wandering over to give them a bit of privacy, and Obi-Wan hands Anakin the Force-suppressors meant to replace his collar. They tingle strangely in Obi-Wan’s hands, and he’s glad to no longer touch them. Anakin, meanwhile, doesn’t feel a thing. He weighs the metal cuffs, observing the Aurebesh engravings and the polished-by-age look, before sliding them on over his vambraces, locking them into place.

Master Naavri then carefully removes the collar, putting it down on the table, and Anakin’s eyes flutter as a very faint Force-sense comes back to him. Obi-Wan feels him in his mind, his presence slightly brighter – no longer the wavering light of a dimming candle, but a single lit flame. It is abysmally small compared to his usual supernova flaring, but it’s… it will always be better than nothing. Master Naavri and Obi-Wan settle into a quite deep meditation, gently easing and pulling Anakin into it with them. It’s comparable to trying to hold a buoy under water – difficult, draining, and unforgiving of even a moment’s lapse in concentration. Anakin’s mind, pulled by the cuffs, tries to shoot out of the Force, and the two Masters are barely enough to hold him there with them, while they help him build rudimentary shields.

Anakin opens his eyes with a gasp, shooting out of the Force as soon as they release their hold of him, and remains still for a few seconds, panting lightly. Obi-Wan distinctively feels a headache forming behind his eyes, but it will easily be soothed.

“I hope it’ll make handling the ‘sabre slightly easier”, his Padawan grumbles. “And thank the Force for muscle-memory.”  
“How has your training been going?” Obi-Wan asks as Master Naavri leaves and carefully approaches an Old Clan _Mando’ad_ with a painful injury even he can feel from where he is.

Anakin shrugs.

“It’s going”, he says. “Dahl says I’m making good progress in hand to hand, and he’s been supervising while _ba’vodu_ Elath teaches me to shoot a rifle.”

Obi-Wan is still a bit mystified by the instant liking his Padawan took to the older, Death Watch Mandalorian, but Elath gives this affection back in kind, clearly treating Anakin as though he were his own. It makes him wonder what his plans are – he would have thought they’d be to get Anakin, himself and the _Vod’ike_ into his clan, giving them more clout into the ever-changing political landscape of the Mandalorian Diaspora – but Elath has made no move hinting to that, and not gotten them acquainted to his Clan. Obi-Wan is pretty sure that Dahl knows what the old fox’s plans are; and that he approves of them, which further confuses him.

Obi-Wan hears the door open, and Anakin’s face morphs into a pleased grin.

“Oh hey look, it’s Lihu!” he says. “With Nurrhloldia”, he adds, grimacing this time.

Obi-Wan understands _why_ when a large Wookie slaps his Padawan’s back in greeting, sending him slamming into the table and cutting his breath. _That_ will bruise. The Wookie holds the hand of a child slightly younger than his _Vod’ike_ are – he easily recognizes Lihu, Reve’s daughter, who is extremely Force-sensitive and desperately needed the guidance provided by the _Kot’tigaanu_ program. He never had the chance, however, to meet Reve’s _riduur_ , and Nurrhlodia makes him feel very small.

“ _Jetii_ ”, he hears, and looks down to see little Lihu holding her arms up to him.

He gives a questioning glance to her _buir_ , who answers by a low rumbling sound he knows is affirmation, and lifts the child to settle her into his lap, Lihu casually settling against his chest with a sense of comfort very clear in the Force.

“You feel like her _ba’juad_ , the _Jetii_ Plo Koon”, Nurrhloldia explains at his surprise. She looks at him, slightly bewildered. “You did not know he was the Jedi assigned to the program on Coruscant?”  
“He didn’t say a thing to me”, Obi-Wan replies, “and I didn’t think to ask, but I shouldn’t be surprised. How has it been going?”

Nurrhloldia rumbles, her presence easing in the Force, radiating satisfaction.

“His teachings are helping our _ad_ a lot”, she says. “I never thought I’d entrust one of my _ade_ to the _Jetii_ one day, but…” she nods. “ _Mhi kar’tayli Plo Koon_.”

It takes all of Obi-Wan’s Jedi calm not to stare in shock. _We know Plo Koon_. Not as formal as an adoption vow, not recognizing him as _Mando’ad_ … but acknowledging him as an ally and a friend, to be defended should the need arise. He wonders if the Master knows how they feel about him – how _Kyr’stadii_ have decided to make him one of theirs to be protected and relied on.

He catches his Padawan’s gaze, shining with mirth.

No, Master Koon does not know. Obi-Wan really, really hopes he’ll be there to see it when he finds out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Aliit_ : family/Clan.  
>  _baar'ur_ : medic.  
>  _Udesii, cyare_ :  Calm down/Relax, beloved.  
>  _hibir_ : student.  
>  _ba'juad_ : teacher / Master.  
>  _Kyr'stadii_ : members of Death Watch.
> 
> Also... Addleton's [drabble](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23910154/comments/342196999) is amazing.  
> (Hoping I managed to link it correctly)


	25. Cin Vhetin - Part 16: Ka'ra.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What better way to bring two people together, than to have children play together?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CT-3381 / Skira, blind.  
> CT-3382 / Tracyn, deaf, blond, golden eyes.  
> CT-3383/ Runi, Nautolan.  
> CT-3384/ Naak, Togruta.  
> CT-3385/Haat, autistic.

Obi-Wan is used to spending quite a lot of time in Little Manda’yaim, but with Anakin staying there, he’s there even more often than usual. Four weeks have passed since the incident, and he knows there are Jedi Shadows on the Sith’s trail – what little there is, at least. He pretends he doesn’t know that some _Mando’ade_ sliced into the Senate’s security camera files to find out who, exactly, tried to hurt Anakin, but the images from those few minutes are _surprisingly_ missing. It’s not even slicing, it’s… something else. Sith Magicks, he guesses, which doesn’t exactly bode well.

Anakin has finally returned to feeling enough of the Force to meditate and build his shields, but it’s taking time, and has been slowed down a lot by the visions he’s been having. Visions of death and pain, that don’t make any sense – or at least, that didn’t until Master Naavri set herself to helping him. There had been no reason why he should have had visions of Queen Amidala dying in childbirth and calling his name; of Mandalorians blown to pieces; of his mother dying; of his brothers suffering agony while he was unable to do a thing. What the Healer had uncovered had deeply shaken both Obi-Wan and Anakin: the Sith Master had not only weakened his shields from the inside-out and let himself a way in to, apparently, build a bond – and hadn’t that been horrifying – but he’d also used the opportunity to implant false visions in Anakin’s brain, to be triggered at his leisure, according to his plans. The backlash had shattered the chains holding the visions hidden until they were deemed useful, and they now harassed Anakin.

It had taken _days_ of Master Naavri triggering them, one after the other, and monitoring Anakin all the while, before he was free of them. As horrific as it was, though, Anakin was more troubled by what could have happened if they hadn’t fount out. Obi-Wan is eternally thankful for Dahl and Am’s quiet support, offering his Padawan peace and quiet out of the Temple and watching over his training to make sure he doesn’t neglect his katas. Hopefully though, Anakin should be able to come back to the Temple about two months from now. In the meantime, Obi-Wan has once more taken his sons to Little Manda’yaim, this time for a little get-together with several children, under the watch of three _Mando’ade_. His children are excited to go and, after careful negotiations with both _Mando’ade_ and crèche-masters, five younglings who were between two years old and five were allowed to come too.

Obi-Wan watches as his sons drag a Mirialan youngling and a Wookie toddler towards their friends, a three-years-old Pantoran clinging to his legs and refusing to let go. Gently, he ruffles their blond hair and sends them warmth into the Force. They’re scared, surrounded by armours, despite the gentle smiles on the _buire_ ’s faces – but then, they’ve always been shy. Reve comes forward, Lihu pulling her, her dark eyes fixated on the Pantoran youngling.

“Come play!” Lihu says with a thick Mandalorian accent to her Basic, her presence shining bright, warm and welcoming, and the youngling tentatively reaches out into the Force.

Lihu takes their hand, letting go of her mother’s, and guides them to the group of children, their presence blooming as they quickly get included in the games.

“I never thought I’d see the day where Jedi younglings play peacefully with our own _ade_ ”, one of the guardians for the day says with a laugh.  
“Don’t you have somewhere to go?” Reve adds, shooing Obi-Wan away. “Chop-chop.”

Obi-Wan pulls a face – Sathi wants to get him started on Rising Phoenix training, but the idea of strapping himself to a jetpack isn’t one that has him very enthused. Sticking a bomb to your back seems like a sure way of getting yourself killed – and there’s also the matter of all the core training he’s had to do before Sathi even _considered_ jetpack training. His abs have never been so hard, and he’s never wished to stay laid on the floor more. Now he understands why most Mandalorians don’t show much during pregnancies, and why births are so much easier for them. With muscles like that, it’s a wonder they’re not sending babies straight into outer space.

Training is hell, but seeing Dahl tell Anakin he’s ready to get his pauldrons - _bes’marbure_ \- is worth it. He wouldn’t be surprised if, after spending so much time living with Mandalorians, his Padawan gets his complete set of _beskar’gam_ before him. The _kama_ Sathi has him wear for his safety isn’t to his taste, but it’s better than risking jetpack backfire on his legs. He likes them the way they are. He’s taking it off and pulling his cloak back on when Anakin saunters up to him with a decidedly pleased expression that he doesn’t trust for one second.

“Anakin Skywalker”, he says. “What have you done now?”  
“Nothing~”, Anakin replies, and oh Obi-Wan doesn’t like that _at all_.

He lets out a sigh, knowing he won’t know anything until his Padawan is ready to spill the tea.

“C’mon then, let’s pick up your brothers and the younglings.”

They find them all gathered around a Mandalorian, attention on him, as he tells them a story with large gestures.

“- and so, the _Mand’alor_ ’s son catches the sword as it falls, and he finishes what his _buir_ started and slays the beast!”

The Mandalorian has, apparently, no Force-sensitivity at all, given the way he missed the rising distress within the Jedi younglings at his story. The Mandalorian ones are hanging onto his every word, though. Obi-Wan isn’t exactly surprised when the little Pantoran from earlier starts wailing _loudly_. He sweeps in, picks them up and shushes them, hugging them tightly.

“Shh, it’s alright, little one. Why are you upset?”

The little one sniffles, tries to talk and only wails louder, to the Mandalorian storyteller’s dismay – especially once he considers the teary eyes many of the younglings sports, and the quiet sniffles from several of them, including Haat under his _buy’ce_. Obi-Wan crouches down, Anakin doing the same, and they find themselves swarmed by crying children.

“What’s gotten into you, _ad’ike?”_ Obi-Wan asks gently.

Skira is swirling with sadness and anger in the Force, but he’s not crying.

“It’s Korkie!” he replies scathingly. “He said the _Mando’ade_ killed all the Mytha- Mytho- the big beasts!”

Understanding downs on him.

“You’ve told them how _Mand’alor_ the First hunted down all the mythosaurs from Mandalore?” he asks the Mandalorian warrior, who nods in defeat.  
“Our kids love that story, I thought they’d love it too!”  
“You’re _mean!”_ , the Pantoran youngling accuses him, sniffling still.

The Mandalorian deflates further, and Obi-Wan chuckles.

“I think I know what upset them in your story”, he says. “Younglings, how about you talk about that story to your crèche-master? They will help you release your pain into the Force. It will be alright, _ad’ike_.”

He lets Anakin usher the younglings into the speeder that will take them back to the Temple, and looks back at the Mandalorian.

“You did nothing wrong”, he assures him, clapping his shoulder. “Our cultures are different, that’s all. When you feel life the way Force-sensitive do, and when you’re as young as they are, the idea of extinguishing one of those lights willingly is horrific. They will understand, in time.”  
“Well, to be fair, the Taungs still hunted mythosaurs to extinction”, the Mandalorian points out.  
“And there’s nothing we can do about it”, Obi-Wan reminds him. “It’s all in the past. But where Mandalorian children see a tale of bravery and heroism, Jedi children see barbarism and bloodlust. In time, they will learn which is which.”

Korkie nods in understanding, but he still looks deeply unhappy.

“What’s bothering you?” Obi-Wan asks, sitting down and motioning to the young man to do so as well. “It’s not just making the younglings cry.”

The young _Mando’ad_ sighs and rests his chin on his fists.

“My _riduur_ and I, we’re considering adopting. I wasn’t sure I was exactly ready to take care of a child, and I figured this was a chance to see… It’s not exactly a success.”

Obi-Wan hums.

“What have you done, to figure out if you were ready?”  
“Talked to other _buire_ with experience”, Korkie answers. “Learnt to tend to a baby, what to expect from slightly older children, tips to deal with the ones grown up enough to remember their birth parents. Talked at length about how to deal with teenagers. We’ve got the _Resol’nare_ and our _aliit_ to help us, of course, I just… I want to do right by them.”  
“Of course you do”, Obi-Wan replies gently. “That’s what it means, to be a parent. To raise them to be the best person they can be. And sometimes, you will still fuck up, you won’t say the right thing or miss a cue. That doesn’t mean you aren’t ready.” His lips twitch in wry amusement. “Besides, you tried to deal with Force-sensitive children. That takes a special kind of training – there’s a reason most parents choose to entrust their children to the Jedi Order, you know.”

Korkie smiles.

“Well, I know _now_. I’d heard you steal children. But now I’ve seen for myself how… I don’t know, how they _bloom_ in your care, when ours… No matter how much we love them, we can see there’s something missing. That being said… It’s not in our culture to give up on our children.”

Obi-Wan nods.

“I know.” He pauses. “It is a difficult choice to make, for most parents. But many get frightened by their abilities, or realize that they can’t care for their child, can’t give them the help they need. Despite what you might have heard, we’re not cradle-robbers. Most children don’t come to the Order before they’re weaned – before their fourth birthday, even. They become Initiates at four, and start training then. They’re old enough by then to understand what is happening, parents have had time to think, and the kids usually show themselves hard to handle for non-Force-Sensitive parents.”  
“But there’s a time-limit”, Korkie says. “Otherwise, I know…” He hesitates. “I know some of the adults would have trained. To acquire skills, for the betterment of the clan.”  
“The Corps, and the _Kot’tigaanu_ program, train Force-Sensitives to deal with their abilities so they aren’t dangerous or life-threatening. To be a Jedi is a system of belief, a way of life. The open-mindedness of childhood allows for easier training, and less attachments.” He smiles. “Well, that last one is under study given my kids. The thing is, most adults wouldn’t be able to train and reach a Jedi’s level of control in the Force. It asks you to let go of things you think you know, challenges your knowledge of the world around you… A young mind does that easily, but the older children grow, the harder it is. It is… exceedingly rare for a child over seven to be trained.”  
“You said it’s difficult, but it’s not impossible, is it?” Korkie asks, and there is something in his eyes, in the pleading of his voice… That tells him there’s something else here.  
“It’s not impossible, no”, Obi-Wan agrees. “Anakin was almost ten when he became my Padawan. It was… very difficult for him, to leave his mother, and I cannot even begin to imagine the strength she needed to let him go. His circumstances were exceptional, though.” He pauses. “Why do you ask?”  
“My younger sister… She’s Force-Sensitive. She was one of the first in the _Kot’tigaanu_ program, and it has made her… I’d never seen her so happy. She admires Master Koon, and she has a great deal of respect for you… and probably a crush on your _hibir_ ”, he admits with a smirk. “She _wants_ to be a Jedi, but she’s too old…”  
“And your parents? What do they say?” Obi-Wan asks, curious.

He honestly hasn’t expected something like that to happen. For relationships between the two to smooth over and become good enough that _Mandalorian_ children would want to become Jedi Knights…

“She passed her _verd’goten_ last year, she’s within her rights. But… they’re tentatively supportive? Most of Clan Mev has heard really good things about you.”

Not so much a child, and rather a teen, then, Obi-Wan muses. Fourteen is definitely old to start training, but then, the Jedi of the Old Republic often started to train at that age or older. Many in the Order would have a fit at the mere suggestion, though.

“I can’t make any promise, but I can definitely bring the matter to the Council. _Tion’kaysh gai?_”  
“Devhi, Clan Mev. Thank you, Obi-Wan. It means a lot.”

He nods, clasps his wrist, and goes back to the speeder, where Anakin, his sons and the younglings are waiting. Anakin and the _vod’ike_ are still outside the vehicle, though, talking about something. He notices quickly that his Padawan has something in his hand.

“They have a present for you”, Anakin says, smiling.

 _They were fighting over who gets to give it to you, and ultimately all agreed that I should do it because I’m tall enough to put it on you_ , he signs quickly, out of sight of the children, who are all beaming in the Force.

He approaches carefully, and Anakin doesn’t waste time sliding whatever the present is around his neck. Obi-Wan looks down and smiles at the sight: it’s a necklace, made of brightly painted noddles and colourful pebbles. It’s ugly, truly hideous, and he loves it.

“ _Vor entye_ ”, he says with a bow, before he crouches down and open his arms.

The hugs are worth it, and he pats the necklace carefully. He notices Anakin wears one as well, and his sons still hold three.

“This is for _ba’vodu_ Sathi”, Runi says, putting one in Anakin’s hand.  
“I’ll give it to her for you”, Anakin promises. “And the last two?”  
“ _Ba’vodu_ Plo”, they declare in unison. “And _ba’buir_ Yoda.”

Obi-Wan chokes and coughs to hide his hysteric laughter. He recently explained Jedi lineage to them, but he hadn’t imagined for a second that, with Qui-Gon dead and Dooku away, they’d latch onto Master Yoda as their grand-father.

“I’m sure they’ll love them.”  
“We need to do more”, Naak says. “For Master Ti, and for Kit, and a really shiny one for Master Mace! And one for _ba’vodu_ Dahl too.”

The ride back to the Temple is, thankfully, quite calm as all the younglings are tuckered out, and once his sons are asleep and under ND-99’s grumpy surveillance, Obi-Wan makes his way to the Halls of Healing, like he does every day. He has never visited it so much – never really liked Healers, and all the pain they dealt with on the regular. When he enters, though, Bant beams at him and he stops dead in his tracks.

“He’s awake!” she says.

Obi-Wan takes a deep breath. Iolar Reau was maintained in a Healing trance for three weeks, and they’ve been waiting for him to wake up for another, unsure of how he’d react to finding himself in the Temple. Logically, he could hear everything that has been going on around him, which is precisely why Obi-Wan has taken some time every day to come and talk to him. Still, that doesn’t mean Iolar will have changed his mind.

“How did it go?”

She snorts.

“First thing he said was ‘I’m gonna kill the _Jetii_ ’, and then when I told him he was weaker than a new-born he threatened to attack me with his drip.”

Obi-Wan winces. That’s not exactly a great start.

“What did you do?”  
“Plopped a baby down on him”, she replies with a wry grin. “He froze instantly, and the little one has been sleeping ever since.”

This time, Obi-Wan smiles and goes farther, to the partition giving Iolar some privacy.

“- _ka’ra haa’tayli gar bal gar aliit, darasuum_”, the _Mando’ad_ is saying, speaking in a low, raspy voice.

There is a rhythm to his words, like he is reciting something. It almost sounds like poetry. He stops when Obi-Wan comes around, eyes immediately darting to him and hand weakly tightening over the baby settled on his torso. Obi-Wan’s heart aches a bit when he sees how young the baby is, and when he notices his light isn’t one he knows. Very recently Found, then. Probably given to one of the guards outside, or abandoned on the steps, depending on their _dar’buir_ ’s love and courage. The _adiik_ doesn’t feel like a Force-sensitive, though. It happens more often than they’d like – babies entrusted to them, despite not being Force-Sensitive, more often than not because parents didn’t know where to go.

“You can’t take him”, Iolar finally says, fierce and yet frightened. “They said I could keep him. It’s too late, now, I’ve said the vows.”  
“I didn’t intend to take him from you”, Obi-Wan replies, sitting in the chair beside his bed. “Does he have a name?”  
“The Healer said his name is Bodhi Rook. He’s clan Reau, now. Bodhi _be_ Reau.” Iolar watches him. “I recognize your voice. You’re Obi-Wan Kenobi.”  
“I am”, he says with a nod. “How are you feeling?”

Iolar purses his lips.

“Better”, he finally says. “My head is clearer.” He looks away for a moment. “I heard I owe you my life.”  
“You have no debt to me, _vod_.”  
“But I do”, Iolar insists. “Did you warn them?” he finally says. “Did you tell them what’s coming?”  
“They know the Sith are out there”, Obi-Wan replies quietly.  
“I heard you when you talked”, Iolar says. “You said I’m a Seer. That I have visions of things to come.”  
“Visions are merely possibilities”, Obi-Wan replies. “But, yes.”  
“I’ve seen these halls bathed in blood often enough, _Jetii_. Your Order is walking the tightrope, and this time you’re taking my people with you.” He closes his eyes. “But I also see… I can see the other side, if you manage to cross.”  
“Is it worth it?”

There’s a long silence.

“I think so”, he finally says. “It is… warm and bright. It feels like sunbathing. A bit like being home, but… _better_.” He scowls. “You did it on purpose. Making me ask _ka’ra_ what is to come.”

“Don’t you think the ancient _Mand’alore_ would ally themselves with the Jedi if it meant the prosperity of the _Mando’ade?”_ , Obi-Wan asks.

Maybe Elath is right, and what they call Manda, what Jedi call the Force, is one thing, too big for comprehension. All returns to the Force, and there are tales of ancient Jedi being able to retain their identity and will even once passed away. It doesn’t seem that far-fetched that stubborn beings like the previous _Mand’alore_ would do something similar to guide their people, always. He needs to meditate on this.

_Mar’e! Gar shushi, verd’ika ._

He almost flinches, but- the feel of the Force is familiar, even though the voice is not. He feels like a brush against his face – like rough knuckles gliding along his cheek, the way he does with his children – and then the feeling is gone, and whatever animated the Force is gone with it.

“You felt it too”, Iolar asks, his voice strangled, eyes wide and brimming with tears. “ _Ka’ra_.”

He remembers the words he heard once before - _Gar draa ru’cuyi dar’tome, Jeti’ika_ – “You were never meant to be apart”. Is this what it meant? He shakes himself, and nods.

“ _’lek_. I’ll need to meditate on this, whatever it was.”

Bodhi chooses that moment to open his eyes, scrunch his nose and start to cry, quickly gaining in intensity. Iolar is too weak to do anything more than hold him stable on his torso, and so Obi-Wan reaches out.

“Can I? He’s hungry.”

Iolar nods, and Obi-Wan picks him up. Force, he’s not a new born but- he’s not a month old yet. Obi-Wan settles him in the crook of his arm and takes the baby-bottle one of the droids brought him, watching the baby drink avidly.

_“Haili cetare_, Bodhi”, he says with a smirk, and Iolar snorts.

There is thick black hair on his head already, and his black eyes gaze back at Obi-Wan, curious and content. Iolar doesn’t look away, watching him like a shriek-hawk, and once Bodhi is done eating, Obi-Wan puts him on his shoulder and pats his back until he’s burped. He gets one of the droids to bring him a bassinet, and lays Bodhi inside for a post-meal nap, wrapping the Force around him like a blanket. He notices how Iolar observes what he does, taking notes of his actions in the Force.

“Good night”, he says, and Iolar stares back sharply.  
“…Good night”, he finally answers.

In his quarters, he silently opens the door to the boys’ bedroom: they are all sleeping tightly, ND-99 guarding them. Skira has kicked aside his covers once more, and is now curled up in a ball from feeling cold. Obi-Wan smiles and pulls the covers back, tucking him in bed. Tracyn is sprawled starfish on his bed, mouth open and snoring lightly. Runi’s bed is empty, but he doesn’t worry: once more, the little Nautolan is curled around Haat. Naak opens his eyes when he approaches, and rubs his eyes tiredly.

_“Buir?”_  
“Go back to sleep, _ad’ika_ ”, he replies, brushing a kiss to his forehead.

He doesn’t hesitate long before sitting down in their room, closing his eyes and breathing slow and deep, easily falling into meditation. The bonds he has with them are soft and lax in sleep. The one with Anakin- it is mildly shielded, like it so often is, but his Padawan is certainly not sleeping. He takes another breath, and reaches out for the presence he felt earlier. He feels it, but fainter – their attention is not on him, but on the children.

 _Ner bu’ade_, the Force seems to whisper.

Obi-Wan shivers, and what sounds like a chuckle reaches his ears. He feels something akin to the cold metal of a helmet settling against his forehead.

 _Get ogir, vod’ika_, a voice breathes, warm and fond. _Mhi lise parer_.

He feels the vision settle – brief and to the point. He recognizes the handle of a lightsabre, though it is different from the ones he is used to. His eyes blink open, and he is back into the darkness of the bedroom. The looming presences have retreated, but his heart is still beating madly in his chest. He doesn’t know what to say – is there even anything to say?

_There is no Death, there is the Force._  
_Ka’ra darasuum ._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _ka'ra_ : stars. Can also mean ancient Mandalorian myth, or the ruling council of fallen kings (aka, what I refer to as _Mand'alore_ ).  
>  _kama_ : belt-spat (sort of skirt to protect the legs from a jetpack).  
>  _hibir_ : student.  
>  _verd'goten_ : Mandalorian coming-of-age, usually at 13 (lit: soldier-birth).  
>  _Tion’kaysh gai?_ : what's her name?  
>  _Vor entye_ : thank you.  
>  _Ba'buir_ : grand-parent.  
>  _ka’ra haa’tayli gar bal gar aliit, darasuum_ : the stars watch you and your family, forever.  
>  _dar'buir_ : no longer a parent.  
>  _Mar’e! Gar shushi, verd’ika ._ : At last ! You listen, little soldier.  
>  _Haili cetare_ : Tuck in! Enjoy! (lit: Fill your boots). Can also be translated by "bon appétit".  
>  _Ner bu'ade_ : my grand-children.  
>  _Get ogir, vod’ika_ : Almost there, little brother.  
>  _Mhi lise parer_ : We can wait.  
>  _Ka’ra darasuum ._ : The stars are eternal (ie: the fallen Kings are eternal).


	26. Cin Vhetin - Part 17: The Foundlings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter kept growing so I had to cut it in two parts to be able to post it today.
> 
> *
> 
> CT-3381 / Skira, blind.  
> CT-3382 / Tracyn, deaf, blond, golden eyes.  
> CT-3383/ Runi, Nautolan.  
> CT-3384/ Naak, Togruta.  
> CT-3385/Haat, autistic.

Obi-Wan hasn’t dared tell anyone about the presences he feels sometimes. He’s pretty sure they’re Mandalorian, though, and now that he’s paying attention, it raises the hair of his nape whenever he feels it. They’re not hostile, which is a huge comfort, especially when he feels one wrapping lovingly around his sons, as though to embrace them. The _Vod’ike_ apparently don’t notice a thing, though Haat makes him doubt, but his connection to the Force has always been peculiar.

Haat stands up from where he’s been playing with his brothers and comes up to him, leaning against his arm. Obi-Wan ruffles his hair, and lifts him up and into his lap for a hug.

“ _Ba’buir_ says you feel them now”, the boy finally declares, and Obi-Wan resists the urge to crush him against his chest. It is a good day, though, if Haat is speaking out loud instead of using signs.  
_“Ba’buir?”_ , he asks. “Who’s _ba’buir?”_  
“ _Ba’buir_ Jaster”, Haat replies, like it is absolutely obvious. He glances at his brothers. “They don’t feel him yet”, he adds. “But Skira is really close. _Ba’buir_ has been waiting.”

Obi-Wan forces his fingers not to shake when he pets Haat’s head.

“Have you been feeling _ba’buir_ Jaster for a long time?”

Haat nods.

“ _’lek. Ba’buir_ Jaster has always been there, ever since the bad place. He likes to sing us songs.”

Obi-Wan stills completely, this time. He is reminded, suddenly, of the first time Anakin held Haat in his arms – of the vision of remembered pain he had. It had never occurred to him that Haat might _remember_. But, as he read in the Archives, it is not unheard of for strong Force-Sensitive children to remember senseless things from their very early life. The Force worked mysteriously, sometimes. He hopes he is wrong, though.

“The bad place? What’s the bad place?”

Haat scrunches his brow in confusion.

“The place before you, _buir_. The cold place full of light. And _Haar Jag_.”

_Haar Jag_. The Man.

“ _Haar Jag_ ”, Obi-Wan repeats.

Haat nods.

“The one from our dreams”, he says, clearly including his brothers.

Dream-sharing isn’t exactly surprising, given the bonds they have, but it is unnerving still.

“Can you tell me more about him?”

Haat nods.

“He’s very sad”, he says, “and very angry.” He pauses. “I like his voice, _buir_. I can show you?”

Obi-Wan nods, and easily settles into meditation, his presence quieting and drawing out his sons, who stop their games to join him in meditation. Carefully, he lowers his shields to Haat, and lets him pour his memories into his mind.

It is jarring, the world seeming so full of lights and sounds and smells, he’s overwhelmed within seconds. When he comes back to the memory, he has reached a deeper state of meditation, and slid effortlessly into Haat’s memory. The memory of warm, calloused hands lifting him and wrapping him in a very soft blanket. The memory lacks the consciousness of the outside world an adult’s memory would have; there is only the here and the now, the comfort of the blanket after the pain of other things against his skin. And there’s the warmth of millions of lights, all shining differently, all part of him. His sight is blurred, his eyes not yet adjusted to the world, but he sees a face looming over him. He can’t see its details, but the face speaks soft words and it soothes him – but the light, the light associated to it is twisted black and blue.

Obi-Wan comes back to himself with a gasp, and hugs Haat tight. He will need time to analyse with an adult’s eyes what Haat showed him, but logic says his son remembers Jango Fett. His sons follow his lead and come out of their meditation, calm and slightly drowsy. He’s not exactly surprised when they opt to gather all the blankets and pillows of the living-room into a nest, curling down together into it for a nap. They no longer nap every day now, but it still a common enough occurrence. They are developed like five years old children would be – or rather, like incredibly quick children would be. Master Naavri posed several diagnoses that show they put on more muscle mass than regular children, and are generally faster, all pointing to genetic engineering. She also surmised they have a near-eidetic memory and an ease to acquire skills that couldn’t come from their genetical background alone: no matter how smart Jango Fett is, or how quickly he learns, he is very likely behind his own sons. This further points that someone, probably the very people who have cloned them, have messed with their genes.

Adding the Force into the mix only complicates things further, and Obi-Wan is inclined to believe they will cross limits they didn’t even know existed simply because that is what they were _made_ for. Those are not exactly a _problem_ , though, unlike the accelerated aging, but manipulating DNA to such a level is, for the most part, beyond the Order’s scientific minds’ capabilities. Most of their chances lie with Siri and Quinlan, who are still out there, looking for leads on their missions. Siri hasn’t learnt much, in all these years – not that Quinlan has either, but Quinlan is caught in a hunt with the most elusive prey in existence: a Mandalorian who apparently doesn’t _want_ to be found.

Obi-Wan lets out a sigh, pinching his nose, and for a second, he almost feels a hand over his brow.

_Rest_ , the Force seems to tell him. He is inclined to listen.

The Temple seems to be in ebullition, but Obi-Wan admits that there is reason enough for that. After all, the Temple very rarely allows visitors inside, if there isn’t official business afoot. That said visitors are Mandalorians is only adding fuel to the fire. Not just any Mandalorians, either, but a group of sixteen children, three of those not residing on Coruscant most of the time, and six out of these being Force-sensitive enough to warrant training. And while the children likely don’t care about the same things the adults do and will mostly play with younglings, Initiates and Padawans, Plo’s _Kot’tigaanu_ class is coming as well – and not just his class, but Force-Sensitive Mandalorians who have been studying on other planets, with other Jedi, as well.

From the last news Obi-Wan got, Plo’s adult class counts twenty-five Mandalorians of thirteen and above, but there are thirteen other adult Force-Sensitive _Mando’ade_ joining in, and the _riduure_ of many of those – and given Anakin’s message, one of those is a friend of his. His Padawan will be coming back to the Temple for the day, his Force-dampeners reduced to half of what they started with. Things will only get easier from there, and Anakin will perhaps be able to come back home earlier than they thought.

“You know, you don’t have to stay around if it makes you uneasy”, Obi-Wan says, looking at Iolar as he changes Bodhi’s nappy. “We understand.”

Iolar glares at him, and Obi-Wan fights back a smile. In spite of his loud protests, the Mandalorian took to meditation and a quiet life within the Temple with spectacular ease. He has also taken a liking to Yoda’s tea, to Obi-Wan’s bafflement. No one, save Master Yaddle, likes this tea.

“I will not _hide_ ”, Iolar replies. “I’m not a coward. But my actions have consequences, and it is not just me anymore.” He glances meaningfully at Bodhi, who is looking back at him in quiet wonder. “My _buir_ will disavow me whenever he’ll learn of this – consorting with _Jetii_ , having the _ka’ra_. Do you know what it’s like, for a Mandalorian, to be nameless and clan-less?”

Obi-Wan doesn’t, but he can guess. Technically, he doesn’t have one either, but- it’s not the same. He has discussed options with Dahl and Sathi, for once he’s sworn in to the _Resol’nare_ and has his complete _beskar’gam_. Despite the mess with all the rumours about him being wedded to Wad’e Tay’haii and Jango Fett, he cannot actually claim any of them as Clan. Wad’e’s Clan doesn’t even live on Coruscant, and Jango is the last one of Clan Fett. Given that Obi-Wan has both brother and children, he can have his own clan, once the time has come.

He can also guess that Iolar might not be the only Death Watch in this difficult situation. Death Watch has never been very compromising, and for many of them, consorting with Jedi is far worse than adhering to True Mandalorian opinions or claiming Jango Fett as _Mand’alor_.

“No, I don’t”, he finally answers. “But I know it’s important.” He looks him in the eye. “You know, the Old Clans would welcome you still. _Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la._”

Iolar shakes his head.

“I know I’m taking the right decision, doesn’t mean it has to be an easy one, or that I have to like it.”

Obi-Wan knows the painful truth of his words, but Iolar is stubborn – he had to be, to survive so long with no Force-training and a frighteningly strong connection to the Unifying Force. There is a silence.

“Do you think my sister has it? The Force?” he finally asks. “I never felt like she did, but-”  
“I don’t know”, Obi-Wan replies. “We have found no genetic correlation between the two. It is easier for Force-sensitive parents to conceive Force-sensitive children, but it isn’t an universal truth.”

Iolar snorts.

“Should have guessed, coming from a half-Taung.”  
“You know about that?” Obi-Wan asks, surprised.  
“You’re not the first Stewjoni I meet”, Iolar replies, “and I’ve always remembered, for all the good that it did to me.” He frowns, shaking his head. “No one in my Clan remembers. The Armourer where I grew up told the story thousands of times, and they had forgotten it within ten minutes of hearing it.” He smirks. “Also, I was there when Sathi tested your blood.”

Obi-Wan smiles, and claps his shoulder.

“I have to go, I promised I’d be there.”

He loses no time going outside, using one of the lifts to get to the bottom of the stairs, at the Temple’s Place, to meet with the Mandalorians. Master Koon is already there, as are his sons, along with Master Windu and Master Ti. Master Yoda is back in the crèche, where he has planned to assist the crèche-masters in their increased duty of the day, though it is mostly an excuse to spend some time with younglings he doesn’t know yet. Master Rancisis is handling matters for the day, with the help of Master Tiin, and Master Yaddle will be leading one of the groups of visitors.

“Ani’vod!” the _Vod’ike_ squeal in unison, and sure enough, a few seconds later, Anakin is parking a speeder not far from them.

He’s not alone in it: the speeder is packed with four armoured figures. Obi-Wan easily recognizes Dahl and Am, and hopes the visit won’t be too much for the Zabrak. The other two, he has never seen, but easily guesses who they are: Neraa Dralsha, and Arkon Tay’haii. Anakin has had nothing but their names on his lips since they met two weeks ago, when the young _Mando’ade_ arrived to Little Manda’yaim for several weeks. They have been betrothed to each other since their childhoods, but only started courting about a year ago, and from Anakin’s tells, are made right for each other. How his Padawan fits into this, he has no idea, but something tells him he will find out soon enough.

Anakin vaults over the door of his speeder, his brothers screaming as they run up to him and hug him tight. Dahl and Am follow at a more sedate pace, though Dahl looks at the Temple curiously, his posture easily conveying that even with his _buy’ce_ on. Am seems more guarded, but not as tensed as he was the last time he was there. The other two radiate curiosity in the Force, one of them clearly Force-sensitive – Arkon, from what Anakin said. One has their armour scarlet and edged in maroon – defiance and power, quite a foreboding message – while the other’s is orange edged in blue.

More speeders arrive, and several Mandalorians come in hot, flying in formation with their jetpacks. It would almost look like an invasion, but the atmosphere is too light for that, and the children certainly help it settle. The little ones run to Plo Koon, quickly followed by a helmetless teenager looking so much like Korkie Mev that Obi-Wan knows she must be his sister. Her armour is brown, for valour, and she wears her hair longer than most Mandalorians, who favour shorter haircut for practicality. It is barely long enough to pull into a small nerf-tail, more nub-like than an actual one, her skin two shades darker than Master Windu’s. This time, Obi-Wan doesn’t miss the glance she throws at Anakin in passing – a _crush_ indeed, and Anakin is wonderfully oblivious to it.

Reve is there, accompanying Lihu, her _riduur_ at her side, and Obi-Wan wonders a bit at seeing Death Watch and Old Clans cohabiting in the same place _peacefully_. More than half of the ones present are Old Clans, but he’s still impressed that there are any Death Watch at all. He’s not exactly _comfortable_ with the idea, though. Suddenly, the idea seems a lot more risky. His eyes fall on Elath, who is looking at the Temple wistfully.

“Elath? You’ve come for the visit?”

Elath smiles, and nods. There’s something a bit tight in his presence, his fingers clenched tightly. Obi-Wan knows the man isn’t Force-sensitive, though.

“I needed to”, he replies. “Ever since I met you…” He sighs, rubbing a hand over his wearied face. “I can’t stop thinking that if I’d sent my boy to the Jedi, he’d still be alive.”

Obi-Wan stills. This is the first time Elath has ever spoken of ever having children, but it is obvious the wound runs deep.

“I’m sorry for your loss”, he says. “I wish we’d known the difficulties _Mando’ade_ face with Force-sensitivity.”

Elath shakes his head.

“It wasn’t your Force that claimed him, though he did scare the _kriff_ out of me several times.” He sighs heavily. “Military equipment malfunction”, he says. “A missile just… blew up several districts. He was home with my _riduur_.” He looks at the Temple again. “There was nothing left. Just a big crater. If we’d given him… He would have been safe, in here. I’d rather he lived, and been a Jedi, than to have lost him like that.”

For a moment, Obi-Wan doesn’t quite know what to say, and then the words Elath used to comfort him come to mind.

“ _Gar su'cuyi, kaysh kyr'adyc, gar partayli, kaysh darasuum_" he says, and Elath smiles bitterly.  
“Idrad Wren”, Elath ends, and there is something in the way he says that name – something Obi-Wan can’t even fathom, a pain he can’t name.

You call a child without parents an orphan, but what do you call a parent without child? He squeezes Elath’s arm, and jerks his head.

“Come on up.”

The little ones are running up ahead, clearly not dreading the long climb up the stairs, their parents keeping an attentive eye on them. Anakin has been swarmed by his brothers – Tracyn is perched on his shoulders and he holds Runi’s hand, both his friends holding the three others: Naak and Skira are clearly delighted to be held up, while Haat is already cuddling against the other Mandalorian’s chest.

Master Windu, Master Koon and Master Ti effectively corral the _Mando’ade_ into following them, and Obi-Wan doesn’t miss Plo’s gentle nudge to Devhi Mev towards Mace. She’s bold, it’s obvious in the way she holds herself, and Obi-Wan notices the slight quirk of Mace’s lips as she talks animatedly. The climb up the flights of stairs is faster than most non-Jedi manage, but then, these are Mandalorians, so Obi-Wan isn’t exactly surprised.

Up ahead, there are several lone figures climbing as well – workers reporting in, mostly. Sometimes Jedi who wish to do a simple moving meditation, or pilgrims from other Temples and other faiths. Master Ti is giving some historical background to the Temple’s foundation as they climb, and the Mandalorians listen. Their stories, they realize, are much more entwined than they thought. They arrive up the stairs, the Guards allowing themselves to share a sliver of curiosity into the Force – before their shields slam up, and Obi-Wan turns to see what prompted such a reaction.

His heart climbs up his throat, but he doesn’t move – it would be no use – as he watches the veiled figure approach one of the Guards, who hold their arms out. The figure – probably a Twi’lek, Obi-Wan muses, despite the covers they hide themselves under – lay what looks like a cocoon of blankets in the Guard’s arms, before hurrying away and climbing down the stairs as fast as they can.

Silence has fallen on the group, all the Mandalorians looking at the Guard who has handed his spear to his fellow Guard to hold the packet better. A wail pierces the air, and a hand grabs Obi-Wan’s arm tight enough to bruise.

“This is a baby”, Dahl says, his voice tight.  
“Yes”, Obi-Wan replies. “Please unhand me”, he adds when the Guard motions him to come.

Dahl lets go, and he meets the Guard halfway through. The mask hides their face, but they seem to know him.

“Here”, the Guard says, handing him the baby swaddled in blankets, and Obi-Wan carefully takes them.

The Guard gently slide a gloved finger down the baby’s cheek. It is indeed a Twi’lek – or well, not completely. Half-Twi’lek, half… probably Zabrak, and wailing in anguish at being separated from their mother. He shushes them gently, assessing the situation: they don’t feel Force-sensitive, and the mother felt distressed enough.

“Did they say anything?” Obi-Wan asks anyway.

The Guard shake their head, and return to their duty. Obi-Wan goes back to the group, the baby finally calming down, Mandalorian eyes drilling into him.

“Does this happen often?” Dahl finally asks, steel in his voice.  
“More often than we’d like”, Master Windu replies. “There aren’t enough of us to keep all the little ones who aren’t Force-sensitives that are given to us”, he adds. “The procedure is usually to get them medically checked, vaccinated when necessary, named if they aren’t, and then legally turned in to the custody of the state.”  
“How many is that?” another asks, all the Mandalorians bristling at the implication. “How many children are abandoned on your steps?”

Obi-Wan gulps, but doesn’t answer. Nearly all the children in the several orphanages of Coruscant have been given to a Guard, a Jedi in the field, or simply left on the steps. There is only ten thousand of Jedi, and most can’t take care of a child while doing their duty. Several curses fly out, anger and distress spilling into the Force. Something tugs at Obi-Wan’s robes and he looks down. One of the children is there, looking up at him. Slowly, he crouches, and let them see the baby in his arms.

“They don’t have the Force”, the little boy says. “You really cannot keep them?”  
“We would quickly be overwhelmed if we did”, Obi-Wan replies. “We will make sure they are safe and sound, and put them on a path to a better life.”  
“Do they have a name?”  
“If they do, their _dar’buir_ didn’t tell us. We will give them one”, he assures. “No child leaves the Order without being given a name.” He smiles. “The tradition is to give Found children a name in two parts.”

The boy’s _buir_ comes closer, and hold out their arms. Obi-Wan carefully places the baby there, letting them hold them. An expressionless _buy’ce_ stares back at the baby, tired from crying.

“ _Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad_”, they declare, loud enough for everyone to hear. “A name in two parts, you say? Then they shall be Mar’ey-Wan Skirata.”  
“ _Oya!”_ the _Mando’ade_ reply.  
“Send them our way”, Dahl adds, turning to talk to the Master of the Order. “All the children you cannot take. Do as you did, but don’t send them to orphanages. Send them our way. If anyone disagree, they can take it up to me.”  
“Who would disagree?” Reve bites back. “This is the _Resol’nare_ , and Foundlings have always been part of our culture.”

Obi-Wan has a hard time holding back his laughter – to see that they did the same thing Iolar did.

“Well”, the Master of the Order says, “I have to submit the motion to the Council, but it seems pretty reasonable.”

He doesn’t say that the Force seems to be _singing_ at this idea, that a major shatterpoint just shattered and that he has a massive headache. Instead, he turns to the young Mandalorian standing at his side, listening intently. Devhi looks up at him.

“Would you do the honour?” Mace says, holding a hand towards the doors of the Temple, guarded by two masked Jedi.

She beams at him, and for the first time in centuries, there are Mandalorians in the Jedi Temple of Coruscant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Ba'buir_ : grand-parent.  
>  _Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la._ : Nobody cares who your father was, only the father you'll be. (Lit: Bloodline is not important, but you as a father are the most valuable thing.) Mando saying emphasising the importance of a father's role, and that a man is judged more by that than his lineage.  
>  _Gar su'cuyi, kaysh kyr'adyc, gar partayli, kaysh darasuum_ : {Modified} Daily remembrance of those passed on: You’re still alive, but he is dead. You remember him, so he is eternal.  
>  _Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad_ : I know your name as my child (Adoption vow).  
>  _Mar'ey_ : Found.
> 
> For those of you who might not know, Jaster Mereel is the former Mand'alor, and adoptive father of Jango.


	27. Cin Vhetin - Part 18: Olarom, Mando'ade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew. I was like "I only have a little to write to conclude this chapter" this morning. I slapped down 2.2k words. Almost decided to split it in two for fear of not finishing it today. Anyway this chapter is a behemoth and that wasn't intentional. (Though I know you're not gonna complain, but there might be some things that feel weird bc of this).
> 
> TW for a slight panic attack.
> 
> CT-3381 / Skira, blind.  
> CT-3382 / Tracyn, deaf, blond, golden eyes.  
> CT-3383/ Runi, Nautolan.  
> CT-3384/ Naak, Togruta.  
> CT-3385/Haat, autistic.

A few steps within the Temple, they find Iolar with Bodhi in a baby-sling across his chest, Master Yaddle standing at his side. He is wearing his vambraces and shin-guards, a blaster on his hip, but is otherwise wearing the same tunics non-Jedi who work in the Temple wear. The sight makes the group of Mandalorian pause – the ones who know him at least – until Reve steps forward, and tugs him down into a keldabe kiss.

_“Su’cuy gar”_ , she breathes, and he lets out a soft laugh.  
_“’Lek”_ , he replies. “ _Ni jahaala_.”  
_“Tion'gar ik’aad?”_, she asks as she pulls back, and he nods, pulling the sling aside enough to show her Bodhi’s dark curls and contented expression. _“Tion’kaysh Kot’tigaanu?”_  
_“Nayc”_ , Iolar replies, and glances up at the assembled _Mando’ade_.

Some have taken their helmets off, others not, but he easily feels the confidence they radiate. They have come, knowing they have no enemy within these walls.

“If you please, those of you who have little ones, Master Yaddle will guide you to the crèche. For the others, don’t worry, you’ll get there later, we will just give them some time to settle. We will meet again for mid-meal. _Vod’ike_ ”, he adds for his children, “you go with Master Yaddle.”

The Mandalorians easily part in five groups, following one of the Masters present. Obi-Wan is not surprised that his group has Dhal, Am, Elath and Anakin’s friends amongst them. The _Mando’ad_ of Clan Skirata who just adopted the baby given to the Temple stops by him as they go to join Master Yaddle.

“You take them to your Healers, like you would have if I hadn’t said the vows”, the _buir_ says, handing him the baby again – Mar’ey-Wan, since that’s the name they were given.

Obi-Wan nods.

“Once they’re cleared, you’ll be able to pick them up from the crèche when you go”, he assures them, tucking the baby against himself.  
“I’ll stay with them”, Iolar offers. “You can be at peace.”

The sound of armoured boots in the large, clear hallways of the Temple is strange, but not as distressing as Obi-Wan would have thought.

“I didn’t imagine it like this at all”, Dahl says after a moment, looking up at the paintings, at the passing Jedi who bow in greetings, at the light, airy feel of the Temple. “It is… grander than I expected.”  
“There is peace here”, Am says softly. “I didn’t feel it last time I came, but Dathomir never felt like this. It’s like the world is singing.”

In the Force, Anakin’s Force-sensitive friend feels curious and inquisitive, his _ven’riduur_ not any less but in a completely different way. It almost feels… personal. Obi-Wan doesn’t pry, and instead continues on to the Halls of Healing.

Master Yoda’s ears perk up when he feels a group come to him – to them, him and the younglings, Initiates and Padawans gathered with him. So many different lights coming towards them, so different, so lively. It has been so long since there last were Mandalorians in the Temple.

“Welcome, you are”, he says when the Mandalorians finally file into view, pausing at the sight of so many children assembled to meet them.

He wasn’t expecting the toddler who hastily stumbles away from their parent and up to him, but easily catches the boy before he can fall. The child giggles, fascinated by his green, clawed hands, and he finds himself chuckling in answer.

_“Olarom”_ , he greets him.

Mandalorian children are unafraid, it seems, and they boldly come forward and greet the little Jedi facing them, exchanging names when they’re old enough to talk, naming the younger ones when they aren’t, the merge happening seamlessly as the Jedi children introduce them to their games, to the different parts of the crèche and their crèche-masters. Clothing and accents are the only things setting them apart, and it isn’t long before the crèche is once again filled with shrill screams and loud laughter.

Yoda laughs as a mixed group of Jedi and Mandalorians chases another group about the rooms with loud war-cries, _pew-pew_ s imitating blaster shots, and just as loud _bzzzz-wooow_ for make-shift lightsabres. The older children, the ones who have started ‘sabre-training and hand-to-hand combat respectively, teach each others’ moves that quickly descend into friendly brawls, carefully eyed by parents and crèche-masters alike.

The Force-Sensitive children quickly get roped into games of push-pull, their connection flourishing at the contact of other, trained Force-sensitives. Still, it is a lot of noise and movement all around, and Yoda isn’t surprised when little Haat comes up to him and hugs him.

“Your sound input, cut off, you have?” Yoda signs, and Haat shakes his head. “Do it”, he says, before wrapping his robes around him, guiding him to a calmer room.

It takes some time, but the Mandalorians slowly sit down on the floor, joining in their children’s games. Some even take off their _buy’ce_ and let Jedi younglings try them on. The helmets are far too big for them, and prompts giggles from the children. As they grow tired, the crèche-masters sits them all down, and the crèche-master of Bear Clan begins to tell a story. The Force swells and settles, like the lazy waves of a calm sea.

Plo Koon as an advantage: he knows most of the Mandalorians following him. Knows how they think, how they observe. What they like. So he knows that the training salles will be the icing on the cake, once they get there. He also knows that, if they are comfortable enough, there is sparring in the future. Until then, though, the Archives will do. Shaak Ti has taken her group to the Room of a Thousand Fountains, and Mace, to the salles. Obi-Wan has the classrooms. Master Nu is waiting for them, prim and proper as always. Plo bemoans that many Padawans and Knights won’t know the jaw-dropping awe of Jocasta going all out with a lightsabre. She used to train with Sifo-Dyas and Dooku, back when the three of them were all Jedi Masters. Now, one has returned to the Force, probably, and the other has left the Order behind – and her. She doesn’t talk about it, but Dooku leaving hurt her deeply.

“This is Master Nu, our Archivist”, he introduces her, and notices with satisfaction that unlike the Padawans and Knights, the Mandalorians aren’t fooled.

They know a good fighter when they see one, and Master Nu is, before anything else, a Jedi. There are few holocrons on her desk, that she selected specifically for this meeting.

“Welcome to you all to the Jedi Archives”, she says.  
“It’s big”, one of the youngest _Mando’ade_ lets out, and the others laugh.  
“It’s a shame the Sundari Library burnt”, another replies, “it was just as big.”  
“Sadly, most of the archives contained on Ossus were lost”, Master Nu replies, “as were those of Sundari, yes. This place has, currently, the most complete archives in the galaxy. Consultation is open to the public, though many documents are only accessible to Jedi Knights, Masters or Councillors. Some contain extremely sensitive information, but many ignore that non-Jedi are welcome here, as long as they respect this place.”

The Mandalorians nods, and Master Nu lets out a pleased feeling into the Force.

“We have a saying”, another Mandalorian says, “ _Kaysh meg miit'gaana, oyacyi_. Who writes, remains. We respect knowledge and places of learning; archives like this are a treasure.”

This time, Master Nu smiles, and gestures to the chairs gathered behind her.

“Then please, take a seat. I do think you will like what I have gathered for you today.”

They gasp when she activates the first holocron.

“I saw one of those cubes in Sundari”, another says excitedly, “we thought it was broken! You activated it with the Force, yes?”  
“Only a Force-user can open a holocron”, Jocasta nods. “This one is an introduction to the seven lightsabre forms Jedi use in combat.”

Plo holds back a chuckle: she has conquered them, offering not weapons, but something they apparently deem just as precious: knowledge, and specifically, fighting techniques knowledge. They go through the holocrons she has taken out, until they reach the last one.

“This one looks damaged”, one of the Mandalorian remarks.  
“Because it is”, Master Nu replies. “But- we can still open it, and access some of its information. This holocron is incredibly precious, both for its history, and the knowledge it holds. I’m certain you will know what I mean”, she adds with a smile, before she activates it.

Plo knows which one it is – he knew the moment he saw it. For decades, it gathered dust in the archives, until one day, around two years prior, a ship landed at the Temple, bearing five babies.

“-ame way you do without armour”, the projection says, and the Mandalorians gasp. “A _Jetii_ must train with their blade, a _Mando’ad_ with their armour. A _Jetii Mando’ad_ must train with both. We are more than our armour, more than our sabres, more than the sum of these two. _Chaos, yet harmony_. Both mindsets seem opposed at a first glance, but if you go a little bit deeper…”

Tarre Vizsla takes off his _buy’ce_ , and smiles charmingly.

“We share the same core beliefs. I truly hope that one day, there will be many more _Jetii Mando’ade_. Love for our children alone should unite Jedi and Mandalorians. How many of my fellow _Mando’ade_ are _kot’tigaanu?_ How many were never trained, those tremendous gifts left unused? Having both _beskar’gam_ and _Jetii’kad_ is a blessing. I urge-”

The hologram shuts down abruptly, and Master Nu trails loving fingers along the side of the holocron. Time has made most of Tarre’s Force-imprint on it fade away, but something lingers, that only few have felt, from manipulating the holocron. They all talked about a warmth similar to a Force-hug – and all-encompassing love at odds with the image most have of Mandalorians, and of Jedi.

The silence is heavy with emotion, until a Mandalorian finally dares to break it.

“Will- Will the others see this too?”

Master Nu nods.

“Yes. This message was quite obviously meant for both Mandalorians and Jedi.”  
“ _Vor entye_, Master Jedi”, another says, bowing their head respectfully, and Jocasta bows back in answer.  
“ _N’entye_”, she replies, her accent making a few giggle.

Plo is willing to call it a resounding success.

Mace really wonders what he had in mind when he accepted to teach a few Shii-Cho katas to his group of Mandalorians. Temporary madness, probably. The Force is swirling in the strangest way, but it is not- It is not _disquieting_. The Force-sensitive Mandalorians have a very different feel in the Force from Jedi, be they Initiates or Knights, but there is a _harmony_ Mace never expected. It is like they’re on another wavelength than he is, but they are all on the same. He is the odd one out here.

“Jedi don’t spar hand to hand?” one finally asks. “Those are open-handed moves.”  
“We do”, Mace replies. “Not as much as we train with a lightsabre, though. Most Jedi will never need to use hand-to-hand in anything other than a friendly spar setting. Some choose to still train in it as well as possible”, he adds. “Master Kenobi is one of them.”  
“ _Master_ Kenobi? How does that work? I’ve heard him call Ani’ika ‘Padawan’, and also heard ‘Knight’…”  
“Throughout their lives, Jedi go through several status that show their advancement in their training”, Mace explains. “Children under six are younglings. From six and up to thirteen, they are Initiates, though once they reach eleven years old or their species’ equivalent, they may be taken as a Padawan. Padawan is the word we use for one apprenticed to a Jedi Knight or a Jedi Master, who teaches them the ways of the Force until they can take their Trials, and be Knighted. Master is the term used for a Jedi who has either reached true mastery of themselves in the Force, or guided a Padawan to Knighthood.”

There is a silence as they mull his words over, probably hierarchising the Order in their minds.

“And when do you get your _Jetii’kad?_ I’ve seen young ones who carried one”, another adds. “We understand that they’re something deeply personal, but they’re still a weapon.”

Mace nods.

“We start lightsabre training at six, with the Initiates, but they only use training sabre. They have the lowest power, and are cored by shards of kyber instead of a full crystal. With these, the most harm they can do is a very slight burn if they keep the blade in contact with skin for longer than thirty seconds. As senior Initiates, once they’re deemed ready, we send them to get their own kyber and make their lightsabre. The casing changes as they grow, but the kyber very rarely does. For training, we lower the power of the blade, of course.” He pauses. “Getting your kyber is a… sort of coming-of-age, a rite of passage that is deeply personal. Many Jedi experience visions at that moment, and it is generally rude to ask about those, unlike regular visions, as they are often very intimate.”

Jedi _younglings_ understand that – the breach of privacy that is asking about a vision gotten when finding one’s crystal. The Mandalorians, however, don’t, and Mace would rather smooth things down with explanations before they can get ruffled up. He knows Obi-Wan started that work, otherwise he’s pretty sure he would have Mandalorians asking to handle a lightsabre already.  
“Are training sabre as private?” Devhi asks, frowning. “If they’re only shards…”  
“No, training sabres do not have the same… consciousness a full kyber does.”

He ponders the wisdom of his decision, and then opens a chest and pulls out one of the training sabres. It will be too small for her hand, but she accepts it with reverence, the others gathering around her.

“Kyber are deeply connected to the Force, and semi-sentient”, Mace continues. “A Jedi attunes themselves to their kyber to work effectively with them.”

She powers the training sabre on, frowning at the too small handle, and gives it an experimental twirl before she gasps.

“It’s so strange”, she says, and the sabre goes from hand to hand.

The strange weapon of a once-enemy has the Mandalorians bantering like children, until the blade comes back to Devhi, who steps away and attempts several Shii-Cho moves Mace showed them. She’s fluid and precise in her moves, he can’t help but notice, her stance near perfect already, her balance stable. More importantly though, she’s grounded in the Force, letting it guide her moves. Whether she does so consciously or not is a whole other question. She compensates well for the ill-fitted weapon, and while Mace expected that from a Mandalorian, he’s still pleasantly surprised by her competency.

The sabre tingles at his fingers when she hands it back to him, and it is easy to imagine her with a blade attuned to her, a casing fitted to her hands. A bit too easy, perhaps. He pushes the thought away – the Council has yet to come to a decision regarding her, the motion weighing heavily in the Force, shatterpoints resting upon it. They wanted to see her in person, before they even envisaged to test her, though Master Koon has offered nothing but a glowing recommendation.

The groups reconvene in the dining hall, where the Mandalorians make a joyous ruckus, sharing what they learnt during their morning visit. They don’t know what they’re going to see during the afternoon, but the excitement is clear, and Obi-Wan can’t stop himself from smiling at the seamless mingling: Jedi are pulled into groups of _Mando’ade_ , and Padawans smother Mandalorians with excited questions and barely shielded curiosity. Private rooms have been offered for the few who don’t take their helmets off in public, and Obi-Wan quickly finds his Padawan, sitting with Am, Dahl, and his two friends, Neraa and Arkon. He gets pulled at their table, just as the two reach for their _buy’cese_. Neraa, he knows from Anakin’s talks, is a Zabrak from Iridonia, while his betrothed is human. Arkon is the Force-sensitive one, his presence tentatively shielded, likely from his inexperience.

Arkon is sitting just on the other side of the table, facing Obi-Wan, and when his helmet comes off-

Obi-Wan flinches away so hard he nearly falls over the bench, his eyes wide with fear as he stares back at Arkon, who quickly pulls his helmet on again.

“ _Osik_ ”, the young man swears, “you knew my sire.”

Obi-Wan _can’t breathe_ \- He’s dead, he knows he’s dead, he saw it himself – Force as if the memories don’t haunt his sleep still, as if he could ever forget. He meets Anakin’s hand on his back, and Dahl steadies him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Breathe, _vod_ ”, Dahl tells him gently, the weight of his gauntleted hand comforting and jarring enough to pull him out of the memory.  
“I’m sorry”, he manages to say, his voice still strangled by the intense fear he felt – Force, he was thirteen again, with a collar ‘round his neck – he was sixteen again, refusing to look away despite his mounting horror.  
“Don’t be”, Arkon replies, face carefully hidden by his helmet once again. “You’re not the first one to have an… _intense_ reaction to me”, he finally says. “My _buir_ says it’s because I look so much like my _dar’buir_. My sire”, he adds for clarification.

Obi-Wan takes a few deep breaths, settling back. He wasn’t expecting it. That’s it, he wasn’t expecting it.

“I… didn’t know he had another child”, he finally manages to say, refusing to name one of the monsters haunting his psyche.

Arkon snorts.

“He didn’t either”, he replies. “I wasn’t exactly part of the plan.” He shrugs. “Drunken one-night stand, _buir_ said he was a handsome asshole and that I inherited his looks.”

Obi-Wan breathes again. Arkon is for nothing in his parentage, his reaction was unfair.

“Take your _buy’ce_ off”, he says, gesturing, almost signing as he talks. “I can handle it. I just… wasn’t expecting it.”

Arkon does so slowly, gauging his reaction. The resemblance is uncanny, but there are enough differences for Obi-Wan to relax. The cheekbones are different, the shape of the eyes too. The skin is just as pale, though. The same black hair, and the same dark blue eyes. It is uncanny, but he can handle it. He simply hadn’t been expecting the ghost of Xanatos Du Crion to take a seat at his table.

It makes sense, then, that his son would be Force-sensitive – and quite strong at that – but Arkon doesn’t seem to have the same arrogance and brattish disregard for others.

_“Baju’ad?”_ , Anakin asks. “Are you alright?”  
“I’m fine”, Obi-Wan replies – not a blatant lie, but not exactly the truth either. “I simply don’t have very fond memories of- it doesn’t matter”, he says, “ _Gar taldin ni jaonyc_.”

Arkon beams at him, and Obi-Wan never saw such an expression on Xanatos’ face. He relaxes further, and digs into his meal. Later, he will tell Anakin about Xanatos Du Crion and his terrible fate. Not now, when his ghost looms already so much over the son he fathered unwittingly, and who doesn’t seem to share much with him besides looks, Force-sensitivity and DNA.

“How are you liking the visit so far?” he finally asks.  
“I love it”, Neraa answers excitedly, obviously grateful for the change of subject. “It’s so different from what I expected! I _loved_ the Room of a Thousand Fountains, it was so lively and beautiful!”

Anakin chuckles, and looks at Obi-Wan.

“Sometimes I really do wonder what people think Jedi are and how we live”, he says.

Arkon answers him, laughing, and Anakin pouts without really meaning it.

They are back into the main training hall, the largest one, except this time the stands are filled by Padawans, Initiates and younglings – to the Mandalorians’ delight. They follow the lead of the Jedi and sit down too, a hush falling over the hall when Master Kolar steps onto the training mats, his robes off already. He is quickly joined by Master Windu, and this time the Jedi pour their excitement into the Force, which doesn’t go amiss with the Force-sensitive Mandalorians, who in turn are easily read by their mates.

“We thought you might appreciate to start this afternoon with a lightsabre duel demonstration”, Master Windu says.

He is treading carefully – Galidraan is not so far a memory, the ground there is thin and could crack at any moment. But the Force has been nudging them on and he doubts this would go badly. Word quickly goes around to the _Mando’ade_ that Master Windu and Master Kolar are two of the best duellists in the Order, and the Mandalorians are eager to see them fight. It is one thing to fight against an enemy, and another to watch said former-enemy spar amongst themselves.

The two Jedi ignite their blades with a hum that thrums in the bones of many in the public, and salute. They start off slow, building the motion, the Initiates on the edges of their seats, the Mandalorians already enraptured. They know how to gauge fighters, and without being told, they would still have known those two were _very_ good. They go faster, use the Force more, and the Mandalorians understand, now, why killing a Jedi in combat is considered such a feat. The admiration for their missing _Mand’alor_ grows, now that they see what he faced. The spar ends with Mace’s defeat, who accepts it good-naturedly.

Obi-Wan finds himself shoved onto the training mat by well-meaning, curious friends, cheered on by his sons, and he lets out a sigh. But, his friends have never seen him fight with his ‘sabre, and he is willing to indulge them. Shaak Ti comes forward to spar with him, and opens with Soresu. The fight is exhilarating, and given the hoots they can hear, their guests are enjoying the show. He still loses to her – his stance needs correcting, it seems.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks his Padawan as Anakin shoos his brothers forward.  
“You can’t be mad with me I only taught them the open-ended stances”, Anakin says in answer, and-

The five little ones have training ‘sabres in hand. It is too late already, and Obi-Wan watches with mixed confusion and pride as they do a Shii-Cho demonstration _completely_ in sync. It shouldn’t surprise him, not when he knows the bonds they share, but it’s still eerie to watch. And also brings the question of where the hell they learnt those.

 _Master Fisto did_ , Anakin signs, and why isn’t he surprised. Master Fisto doesn’t even have the decency of looking sheepish. Either way, his sons go through the demonstration with only a few hiccups. Tracyn and Skira are obviously skilled at it, but it’s the way their brothers follow their moves that is entrancing. Obi-Wan has only seen such a thing in Master-Padawan pairs. There is also the fact that, with the bonds he has with them, he feels how they all follow _Skira’s_ lead. Tracyn tones down his moves to remain in the flow, and despite his greater precision and better balance, it is Skira they look to.

He doesn’t really know what to make of it. Skira is a natural leader, he had realized that much, but not to this extent. They bow once they’re done, and hand the lightsabres back to Anakin, who smiles and tells them they did good, and he can feel in the Force how proud they are – they didn’t do it much for the Mandalorians or the Jedi, no. They did it for the brother who first taught them the moves, and it is obvious how much Anakin appreciates the gesture.

Obi-Wan doesn’t really know how it happens in the end, but Jedi and Mandalorians end up in friendly spars all over the hall, within the same age-range usually. Training sabres are put to use, but the Mandalorians are eager to show off some hand-to-hand moves, and the Jedi are always eager to learn. The Force hasn’t felt this light and bright in _years_ , and he can’t stop himself from laughing when Neraa brings Anakin down, simply using his superior strength. He also doesn’t miss the way Devhi sticks close to Mace, nor the way she looks up at him with clear adoration in her eyes.

There are tears from the youngest children when it is time to go, and Anakin hugs his brothers tightly, promising to see them again very soon. Obi-Wan looks at Master Yoda, who is standing beside him, looking thoughtfully at the Mandalorians as they leave the Temple.

“Not training Devhi Mev as a Jedi would be a mistake”, Obi-Wan says with certainty, his prescience raring up.

Master Yoda chuckles at his obvious annoyance.

“Yes, yes. Quite strong, the Force’s will is about this. A Jedi, she shall be. My doubts, I had, but a good Master, Mace will be.”

This time, it’s Obi-Wan who laughs.

“I’m not sure he has realized it himself. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were already halfway to establishing a training-bond.”

Master Yoda then pokes his armoured shins with his gimmer stick.

“Your sons, become Initiates tomorrow, they will. Lightsabre training with me, it is time they start.”  
“But, Master, they are not yet six…”  
“A matter of a few months, it is, and ready, they are. Trained them well, you and your Padawan have. Keep it in mind, I do. Further training, they need.”

Obi-Wan bows.

“Yes, Master Yoda.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _olarom_ : welcome.  
>  _su cuy gar_ : you're still alive (and also, hello).  
>  _Ni jahaala_ : I'm well/healthy.  
>  _Tion'gar ik’aad?_ : Is that your baby?  
>  _Tion’kaysh Kot’tigaanu?_ : Is he Force-sensitive (lit: is he Force-touched)?  
>  _Nayc_ : No.  
>  _ven'riduur_ : future spouse, fiancé(e).  
>  _Jetii'kad_ : Jedi's sabre, aka lightsabre.  
>  _Vor entye_ : Thank you (lit: I accept a debt).  
>  _N'entye_ : You're welcome (lit:No debt).  
>  _Osik_ : shit.  
>  _Gar taldin ni jaonyc_ : Nobody cares who your father was (lit: bloodline is not important).


	28. Interlude - Kot'tigaanu: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse to three Jedi involved in the program, now that some time has passed...

Master Ijirn basks in the joyful feeling colouring the Force around her. She has been working with the Mandalorians settled in town, not too far from the Jedi Temple she hails from, teaching them how to control themselves in the Force. It is not an easy assignment, but she is not one to back down when faced with adversity. The Mandalorian Diaspora is impressive, especially its gossip mill. Mandalorians know things, seemingly as soon as they have happened. These days, though, news from Coruscant, and specifically, Little Manda’yaim, are what interests them more. A few of her students went there when they heard Force-sensitive _Mando’ade_ would visit the Temple. She hasn’t even heard about it – it is either rumour, or not an offer made to every single one _Mando’ad_ in the program, but she says nothing of it. Mandalorians, it seems, trust their system of spreading news to be truthful.

It makes her smile – Jedi, in that respect, are not so different. Gossip spreads like a wildfire in the Temple, and she knows it is like that for most Temples, especially the main one on Coruscant. Either way, the gossip mentioned children, and… well, Mandalorians value children. She had heard of it, of course, but now she can also say she has witnessed it. Organizing an afternoon for Jedi younglings and Mandalorian children to play seemed to be a good idea, and the Force apparently agreed.

There aren’t many children: her students are mostly Death Watch, and her data information packet instructed her to be cautious around them, as they were a rather extreme Mandalorian faction. Their ideals tended to Mandalorian conquest and a return to the grand days of a Mandalorian Empire, which makes them neither Jedi-friendly, nor Republic-friendly. And she has heard them talk – about past hunts, about violence that makes her want to retch. About glory and the “Kryze bitch” sitting in Sundari.

She has felt them in the Force, bereft of guidance. The one they sworn themselves too, Vizsla, is nowhere for them to find. Some of their children have straight up disappeared, and their leader isn’t there. They are frightened, unmoored. They don’t know where to go, who to trust. Jango Fett has been gone for even longer. Sometimes, there are sightings of him. Nothing official ever. Some claim it is good riddance, that he guided his people to a slaughter. Most know that their faction is responsible for the slaughter of Galidraan, more so than the Jedi. They would never admit it, though.

Yes, dealing with her students is complicated and, in the beginning, she often feared they would straight up murder her if she displeased them in some way. Lately, though… She has come to trust them. They trust her back in turn.

She tells herself it has nothing to do with the frail Force-bonds that have established themselves to ease her teaching.

She wonders, still, what their justification is.

*

“This is like taking a hammer to a piece of crystal”, Master Antilles says, his arms crossed.

Force, but he isn’t a teacher, doesn’t have the _patience_ to be one. Especially to the little shitheads he has to deal with. He has told the teen many times that Force-shoves, the way he did them, are dangerous and the mark of an unmastered mind. It’s like talking to a bantha’s ass: the kid doesn’t want to listen to him, and slams his Force-presence into the shields of everyone around him. The little ones cry; of course they do, it hurts them.

_You look at this the wrong way_ , the Force seems to whisper to him.

“This is not working”, the kid’s _buir_ says with a sigh.

They are wearied too: their own shields are still frail things, and the child is exhausting them. He is no longer in danger of dying, no, but he might still kill the ones around him by inadvertence. Jon can’t let that happen.

“He’s too worked up”, Jon mutters, and with a Jedi, they would know to meditate and calm themselves down, but Astar has yet to manage to meditate for more than ten minutes, which are usually long and painful. “What do you do when he gets like this?”  
“Spar with him”, the _buir_ answers. “It calms his mind and helps him deal with his emotions. Sometimes I have him doing drills, otherwise he exhausts me.”

When he started this, Jon recoiled at the idea of teaching Mandalorians more than what was necessary to safeguard themselves. But he has exhausted all his options, and the Force… well. It almost feels like it’s gently pushing him along.

“What do you say about learning a few katas, Astar?” he finally asks.

Astar glares back and crosses his arms.

“Can’t be worse than this”, he spits out, all teenage-rebellion.

Force, Jon is _never_ having children. Or Padawans. He can’t deal with this.

“I’ll show you the stances once, and then we’ll do it together”, he says, shrugging off his robes.

He has learnt to be comfortable with his skin around them. Mandalorians don’t care about his scars – they seem to care about his eyes, though. Always say that eerie blue is familiar to them. It doesn’t really matter, either way. He does as he said and shows him some of the first katas his Master taught him. Astar joins him while trying hard not to project his _want_. The grace of Shii-cho katas is completely different from what he learnt thus far. Jon resumes the sequence and, to his surprise and delight, he feels Astar calms down. Focusing on his moves, on getting them right, going so slow it is almost painful. His anger and frustration drain, and he seamlessly sinks into the Force.

Moving meditation. _Kriffing_ moving meditation. Why didn’t he think about this before? Astar is always moving, making some noise, doing _something_. He can’t keep still, of course moving meditations would be what works best for him. Jon has let himself forget he isn’t forming _Jedi_ who have to learn patience and to follow the will of the Force. He is teaching Mandalorians, who have a will of fire and, for many, the desire to take the galaxy on.

“Try again”, he says when Astar is completely appeased, hours later.

This time, Astar lifts the pencil easily and holds it steady, never faltering. His mind is a calm pool, the Force flowing through him, singing in a low voice. The pencil shoots out brutally, stabbing a ration bar out of his _buir_ ’s hand and pinning it to the wall. Jon lifts both eyebrows.

“A lot better. Less hammer, more dagger-y.”

Astar smiles and, in the Force, glows with pride. Maybe Jon can be a teacher yet.

*

Reeft is pretty sure this is a problem. Okay, not just one problem, but several problems. Either way, he is pretty sure Jedi aren’t supposed to… get in the situation he is, now. The situation being the sudden realization that he has somehow, and completely unwittingly, fallen in love with his Mando.

…Maybe this should have been his first clue. The main problem is that now that he is aware of those feelings, the Code says he should root them out. Probably. The rule of attachment…

…is under the Council consideration, as it has been for the past three years. Right.

“Reeft? Is something wrong?”

Evrin – his Mando, but he should stop calling him that, he really should – is looking at him with a puzzled, worried expression.

“Nothing”, he replies, a bit too fast maybe.

Evrin squints his eyes in disbelief.

“You’re lying”, he says, and kriff, _why_ is Evrin Force-sensitive?! “Do you feel ill?” he asks, stepping forward and brushing a bare hand against Reeft’s forehead.  
“I’m fine”, he squeaks out. “I just… need to meditate a bit.”  
“Oh”, is all Evrin answers. “Can it… wait for after dinner?”

Reeft nods. He is still getting used to Mandalorian culture, and they are hosting him. The _vheh’yaim_ they share is very traditionally Mandalorian, from what Evrin told him. The Naasade – Kot, Ruusan and their son Dinui, who all abandoned their name when they left Stewjon – built it, and they share it with him and Evrin. The lack of privacy grated at first – Jedi may live in the same Temple, they still have their own quarters – but he has gotten used to it. It has nothing to do with the fact that when he doesn’t manage to fall asleep, he can watch Evrin.

He helps Evrin with the trays of food they carry to the main room – the _karyai_ , as it is called – where the clan gathers to eat. Well, he says clan, but really, it’s the Naasade, Evrin and him. Had he gone with any other clan, it would have been considered skewed in that clan’s favour. As it is, Dinui still needs a trained Force-user nearby constantly, and Evrin is the only member of his clan on planet. He hasn’t so much adopted the Naasade as they have adopted him. What is interesting, though, is how the Naasade, in their disgust of how their own clan rejected them and their child, are gradually distancing themselves from Death Watch imperialist ideology, and under their influence, so is Evrin.

“You look… _haryc_ ”, Ruusan says, looking at him critically.

Her accent is still thick, but she has made a great deal of progress in Basic since Reeft knew her. And he, of course, has picked up more Mando’a than he thought he would, living with a family whose only language it is.

“Tired”, he translates for her. “It’s nothing.”

She doesn’t look convinced. Kot arrives, Dinui in their arms, fresh out of the bath.

“ _Ba’vo_ ”, Dinui calls out, holding his arms out to him, and Reeft reaches out to pull him into his lap.  
“Hello little light”, he replies, poking the tip of his nose.

It’s not his fault the kid loves him. It’s also not his fault that Dinui blazes in the Force in a way that reminds him of Obi-Wan’s Padawan, the young Skywalker. Weaker still, but strong enough to be noticeable. He doesn’t have his midichlorian count, but he’s pretty sure it’s high enough to not be average.

He misses the Temple, sometimes. He has been on this mission for nearly a year already, and even though it is nothing like he expected it to be… He misses his friends and his home. Kot serves the plates and he realizes he has gotten used to the spicy food Mandalorians favour. He has gotten used to living a life… that isn’t his own. He wonders, distantly, if this is how Obi-Wan felt when he was on the run with Duchess Kryze. His friend never said it out loud, but Reeft knows how to read between the lines and he knows… He knows Obi-Wan would have left the Order for her.

But now, now that Obi-Wan is becoming more Mandalorian by the day, Reeft can’t help but wonder whether it was her he fell in love with, or her culture. He’s so caught up in his thoughts, that he doesn’t realise his silence worries his friends. He plants a kiss on Dinui’s brow before handing him back to Kot, wandering outside to get some fresh air. His lightsabre hums on his belt, and he takes it, feeling out the kyber in the Force. He is a Jedi. That’s all he has always been.

He would jump at the sudden touch to his wrist, if he hadn’t felt Evrin coming after him. The Jedi refusal to wear armour doesn’t sit well with the _Mando’ade_ , but Evrin has stopped commenting on it after he saw him practice his katas. He is far from being remarkable with a lightsabre, but it was enough to reassure his Mando.

“What’s wrong?” Evrin asks again. “You’re silent, and you have this look on your face… you’re distant.”  
“I just need to meditate”, Reeft replies.  
“I’ll meditate with you, then”, Evrin declares.

The Force is calm and steady around them, allowing Reeft to sift through his many emotions. This mission is nothing like what he expected. Evrin is a good meditation companion: he knows who he is, what he believes in, and what his purpose is. His presence is warm and stable, and yet different from fellow Jedi.

It shouldn’t be a surprise, when their lips meet. It isn’t really one.

“ _Ner jeti’ika_ ”, Evrin breathes, flondly, slightly exasperated. “You think far too much.”

Maybe Reeft does. Either way, he is pretty sure he has a problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _vheh'yaim_ : temporary hut made of wattle and daub (though temporary can mean anything from days to years).  
>  _ner jeti'ika_ : my little Jedi.


	29. Cin Vhetin - Part 19: Vode.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jango meets up with his informant again, hoping to know more about his children. He should have known, of course, that he would also get his ass kicked for his stunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been sitting on this chapter for faaar too long. It is shorter than intended bc it was meant to be a double-update with a second part not related at all, but I'm not done with the second part and I don't want to rush it so... shorter update + a spin-off if you read those, for things I haven't tagged in this story and thus won't appear more than they do here. The second part will follow ASAP.
> 
> *
> 
> CT-3381 / Skira, blind.  
> CT-3382 / Tracyn, deaf, blond, golden eyes.  
> CT-3383/ Runi, Nautolan.  
> CT-3384/ Naak, Togruta.  
> CT-3385/Haat, autistic.

Jango looks around, and easily picks his Mandalorian contact amongst the night crowd at the dingy dinner they have picked to meet. Discreetly, he sends Boba the signal that it’s okay to join him. He knows the moment they spot him, as they straighten. He weaves through the tables and reaches out, gently tapping his helmet to the other’s in a keldabe kiss.

_“Vod”_ , he says, the word rolling on his tongue easily.  
“Jango”, Am replies, something unwinding at the acknowledgment. _“Alor”_ , he adds for good measure, and Jango nearly snorts.

Am takes his _buy’ce_ off, letting Jango see his face, take in the changes. His horns don’t grow that noticeably anymore, but it’s been long enough that Jango sees it anyway. Jango returns the gesture.

“You look good”, Jango finally says, and smiles. “How are you doing?”

Am crosses his arms and – oh, Jango does _not_ like that. Am only crosses his arms when he has something displeasing to say.

“I’ve met your _tal’din’ade_”, Am declares, voice flat, and Jango winces at the use of the word.  
“ _Ner ade_ ”, Jango corrects, but-  
“ _Nayc. Be’Obi-Wan ade_”, Am retorts. “I don’t know what you’re doing, _vod_ , but you’re fucking up big time.” He tilts his head aside. “Some _Mando’ade_ consider your actions a declaration that you have married the _Jetii_. Lucky for you, Sathi does not hold it for a lawful marriage, but that also means you have no rights over them.”  
“I never intended to marry him”, Jango grimaces. “You know that’s why I made believe that I believed he was married to Wad’e. It was the only way.”  
“Jango, _five_ Force-sensitive babies? I know you, _vod_. This isn’t like you. Especially not after-”  
“Don’t”, Jango cuts him harshly. “You know I can’t tell you.” He breathes in deeply. “Tell me about them, Am. Tell me about my children. I saw the holovid from the Senate-”

Am purses his lips but doesn’t fight him on the point any further.

“I don’t know what prompted you to pick Obi-Wan, but it was a good call”, he finally admits. “I’ve only seen one of the kids without their _buy’ce_ once, and it was in a tightly controlled environment. Half-Nautolan, and yet he still looks like a carbon-copy of you. I have my guesses as to what makes them grow as fast as they do, and you’re lucky I haven’t punched you yet.”  
“There were only four on the holovid”, Jango blurts out, something clenching in his gut at the thought that one of the five babies he held cradled in his arms might have died.  
“Obi-Wan has five sons”, Am replies carefully, and Jango breathes in relief. “They’re called Naak, Haat, Runi, Skira and Tracyn.” He lets himself smile then. “They’re lovely. Strong Force-Sensitives, the lot of them. Their _ori’vod_ – Obi-Wan’s Padawan, Anakin – is staying with us.”

Jango has a moment of pause.

“There’s a _Jeti’ika_ staying in Little Manda’yaim?”, he asks in disbelief.  
“Has been for the past month, and still there”, Am replies. “Things are changing, _vod_. Sathi has taken upon themselves to train Obi-Wan in our ways, and Dahl is training Anakin. They have already earned parts of their armours, _vod_. In less than a year, they’ll be full _Mando’ade_ sworn to the _Resol’nare_.”

Jango takes a deep breath. So the armour wasn’t just for show, then. Obi-Wan had committed farther than Jango ever asked of him, and he… doesn’t know how to feel. _Jetii_ becoming _Mando’ade_ seems anathema.

“And the _Mando’ade_ don’t try to kill him?” He finally asks in disbelief.  
“ _Vod_ , he has more than half of Little Manda’yaim’s population ready to kill for him and his kids. He’s friends with several of Clan Bralor, and Elath Wren would probably adopt him if his clan let him. For all intents and purposes, he’s one of us…” Am pauses. “Jango. He’s Stewjoni. Did you know that, when you picked him?”

Jango startles. Stewjoni. He remembers his _buir_ telling him the legend, and how they were behind Death Watch’s most imperialist ideals. He remembers fighting against them; how most of them were fierce and half-mad from decades of growing up under a Sith-shield. How he had thought they had lost the Way, at some point in their history, trying to uphold the _Resol’nare_.

“ _Haar’chak_. A Force-sensitive Stewjoni?” he finally breathes.

He hadn’t paid attention to Obi-Wan’s origins when he’d chosen him, knowing Jedi didn’t know their birth parents for the most part. He had thought it didn’t matter.  
Obviously, he is an absolute _di’kut_.

“Iolar Reau is currently in the Jedi Temple, tended to by their Healers”, Am resumes. “He’s a Seer. Obi-Wan saved his life, and now he has a son. The last time I saw him, he was… happy. Safe.” Am extends a hand. “There is a program, now, of specially dispatched Jedi Masters who teach Force-Sensitive _Mando’ade_ how to be safe from it. I’ve heard things… Jango, it’s like all over the galaxy, our people is attaching itself to the Jedi. We have a young in our Clan who has petitioned the Jedi High Council to be allowed to become a Jedi, and there are good chances she’ll be answered favourably. Things are changing, _vod_. I don’t know what you’re doing with that contract of yours, but keep in mind that your people is going through a major change. And you’re not there.”  
“Don’t say a word more”, Jango growls. “We both know damn well that I’m no longer _Mand’alor_.”  
“Oh, so you’re dead?” Am retorts, crossing his arms again. “Or did someone defeat you in a single combat after challenging you for the right? Because you sure as hell haven’t _resigned_ , otherwise you’d have appointed someone to become _Mand’alor_ in your stead. I’ve let you flee long enough to lick your wounds, _vod_ , but you’re doing no favour to anyone, and least of all our people.”  
“ _My_ people are dead because I fucking _led them there_ ”, Jango snarls, getting up furiously. “You know that! Stop asking me to be someone I’m not!”  
_“Buir?”_

The voice is small and frightened – by his anger, not by anything else, and it deflates as suddenly as it flared.

“ _Bob’ika_ ”, he sighs, and pulls his son up on his knee. “ _Ni’ne_ ”, he says, pressing a kiss to Boba’s curls.

Am looks at Boba, and lets out a swear that is certainly no Mando’a.

“He looks like you”, he says, and it isn’t soft, it is accusatory. “Jango Fett what in all Sith hells did you fucking do?!”  
“A huge mistake, that’s what I did!” Jango snarls, holding Boba tight. “Another one, just add it to the list!” He takes a deep breath, and slumps, pinching his nose. “Fuck. I messed up bad, _ori’vod_ , and now I’m doing damage control.”  
“You won’t tell me”, Am states, because he knows him well. Gently, he tilts his head forward and brings their foreheads together again, breathing slowly. “ _Ni kar’tayli gar darasuum, vod. Gar sirbu gar ne’din’waada gar runi par gana ad’ika._”

Jango’s Force-presence is frazzled, and Am feels his hearts tighten painfully. Feels the shaky breath his brother takes.

“ _Ni nu’lise_”, Jango finally replies, and Am aches.  
“It won’t bring them back”, Am whispers. “Myles, and Jas-”  
“Don’t”, Jango cuts him, “please don’t.”

His hand tightens around Boba’s waist, who is listening intently. Am breathes out and smiles at the boy.

“ _Su’cuy!_ I’m Am, Clan Mev.”  
“I’m Boba”, the child answers once his father has motioned him to do so. “Boba Fett. Are you friends with my _buir?”_

Am looks up at Jango, and smiles brokenly.

“Something like that, yes”, he replies. “I’ve known him for a long time.”

Boba’s eyes widen.

“Are you his _haav’burcya?”_

Jango chokes and Am stares at the kid, bemused. Coming from an adult, he would have known exactly what they were asking, and answered accordingly, but he has the feeling maybe Boba’s question is a lot more genuine – especially considering he can’t be more than eight. Jango’s reaction, though, would suggest Boba is asking if they’re sex-friends.

“Where did you hear that word, _Bob’ika?”_  
“Is it a bad word?” Boba asks with all the seriousness of a child. “Mij said Kal should try to find one because he was annoying him. That maybe he would relax a bit.”  
“Am is not that kind of friend”, Jango finally replies, and he _shouldn’t_ have asked – Boba doesn’t know how to keep some things secrets yet. “He’s my _vod_ , my brother. Someone I trust with my life, and with yours.”  
“Woah”, Boba says, impressed, and turns back to Am. “Does it make you my _ba’vodu?”_  
“It would be my honour”, Am replies.

When they part, Jango has a small chip tucked safely in a pocket of his belt. On it, there are all the holopics and holovids Am managed to gather of his kids. He holds Boba against him, his son fast asleep in his arms, and thanks the _ka’ra_ that this time, he doesn’t need to add more names to his remembrance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Vode_ : siblings, here specifically, brothers.  
>  _tal'din'ade_ : Bloodline children, aka biological children. Denies parenting rights to the biological parents. (I made this one up bc we have _dar'buir_ for no longer a parent, but there is no word for the children who have a _dar'buir_ ). Very heavy in meaning, often insulting if directed at _Mando'ade_.  
>  _Ner ade_ : My children.  
>  _Nayc. Be’Obi-Wan ade_ : No. Obi-Wan's children.  
>  _ori'vod_ : big sibling (here, big brother).  
>  _Jeti'ika_ : Little Jedi. Can be affectionate, but most of the time used to mean Padawan.  
>  _Haar'chak_ : damn it.  
>  _di'kut_ : idiot.  
>  _Ni'ne_ : Sorry. Based on [this post](https://bittodeath.tumblr.com/post/627162161289019392)  
>  _Ni kar’tayli gar darasuum, vod. Gar sirbu gar ne’din’waada gar runi par gana ad’ika._ : I love you, brother. Tell me you didn’t sell your soul to have a child. (NB: the translation is what it means, the literal translation is far too messy.)  
>  _Ni nu'lise_ : I can't [tell you that].  
>  _haav’burcya_ : Lit : bed-friend, usually a euphemism for sex-friends, though can also mean someone you trust enough to sleep with. (I made up that one too.)  
>  _ba'vodu_ : uncle/aunt.


	30. Cin Vhetin - Part 20: Devhi Mev

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Council decides whether or not to allow Mandalorian Devhi Mev to become a Jedi Padawan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second part, as promised!
> 
> *
> 
> CT-3381 / Skira, blind.  
> CT-3382 / Tracyn, deaf, blond, golden eyes.  
> CT-3383/ Runi, Nautolan.  
> CT-3384/ Naak, Togruta.  
> CT-3385/Haat, autistic.

Several days have passed since the Force-sensitive Mandalorians came to visit the Temple, and the High Council has finally decided to take a decision about accepting older Mandalorians as Padawans. This would create a precedent and has long been discussed and meditated on. However, Mandalorians who keep to the _Resol’nare_ are physically trained, meaning taking up katas and lightsabre training would be easier. Moreover, they also have a history of mental discipline, which would mean an easier integration in a Jedi mindset.

“The Mandalorian culture is still more violent than the Order would accept”, Master Mundi protests again. “Do you really think they could keep to peace-keeping?”  
“It would have to be a case-by-case basis”, Master Tiin muses. “The Journeymen Protectors hold a duty quite similar to ours in its peace-keeping aspect.”  
“With Master Tiin, I agree”, Yoda nods. “To become Jedi, not all Mandalorian Force-sensitives want. More malleable, young minds are, but resilient and stubborn, most Mandalorians are. Strong Force-users, some of them could be. To control their powers, they are learning. Potential, some have.”  
“Are we all in agreement, then, that induction into the Order as Padawans should be seen by this Council on a case-by-case basis?” Mace asks, and the Councillors nods. “Then, I motion for Devhi, of Clan Mev, to be tested. Should this Council be favourable to her induction in the Order, I shall take her as my Padawan Learner.”

His declaration earns several garbles of surprise, and Yoda’s chuckles. Master Koon is the first to reply.

“I second this motion. I have been training young Devhi for several months and she shows a remarkable aptitude in the Force, as well as a strength of mind and deep-seated morals. Mandalorian rumour holds her as a good combatant for her young age, and I am quite sure she would take to lightsabre fighting with ease and grace.”  
“Yes, yes. A good Jedi, she will make, if trained by you, she is”, the Grand-Master replies. “Ask Master Kenobi to escort her to the Temple for this convocation, I will. Deal of other matters in the meantime, we shall.”

The young teenager arrives with Master Kenobi and Padawan Skywalker as escorts, holding herself straight in her armour and admirably showing none of her febrile anticipation. Her _buy’ce_ is clipped to her belt, her durasteel armour shining, newly painted orange for lust for life, and green for duty. The brown she had before is relegated to her Clan crest. Two qualities that would make her a good Jedi, should she be trained – not that Obi-Wan has any doubts. The Force is quite clear on this point. He settles himself to wait with Anakin outside of the Council chambers, his Padawan looking quite angsty. No doubts that it brings back memories – quite unpleasant ones too.

Devhi, to no one’s surprise, shows a solid education in many matters the Jedi study, as well as strength in the Force, and a good emotional balance, for one so young and not raised within the Order. Mace can’t quite stop his eyes from shining with delight: she’s bright and strong in the Force. There are modules she’ll have to take, especially when it comes to philosophy, but she has gathered information already and knows the Code, as well as the main tenets of the Order. The Council confers and she waits, trying to school her features into that Jedi mask of serenity, with mixed success.

“You understand that to become a Padawan, you will need a Jedi Master to train you?” Shaak Ti asks, out of the list of questions they have prepared for her to make sure she really understands what she is asking for.

Devhi nods firmly.

“Yes. I also know that majority being different on Coruscant and within the Order, the Jedi cannot consider me a full adult the way my culture does.”  
“We are not stripping you of the right you earned to your weapons and _beskar’gam_ ”, Master Tiin explains, “as these are inherent to your culture. However, you will be held to the rules for junior Padawans, which entails a curfew, for which you should be either within the quarters you share with your Master, or within the junior Padawan dorms should you choose to be there. You also agree to come and live within the Temple, instead of remaining within Little Manda’yaim with your family.”  
“With all due respect, Masters, this is what I want. I want to be a Jedi, to follow the will of the Force, and the _Resol’nare_. I want to make this galaxy a better place, and I’m prepared to make the sacrifices this entails.”  
“Well spoken”, Master Yoda says. “A Master, willing to take you as their Padawan, there is. The right to refuse, you have.”  
Her eyes immediately snap to the Korun Master, to the amusement of everyone. Master Windu allows himself a rare smile and stands up, bowing respectfully.  
“Your insight is true. Initiate Mev, it would be my pleasure to teach you everything you will need to become a Jedi Knight, if you are willing to become my Padawan learner.”

She smiles blindingly and hastily bows, a bit awkwardly, not yet used to the move.

“ _Vor entye_ , Master Windu. I accept.”

She gets to say goodbye for now to her family, knowing much of her time will be taken up by her new training, and gathers a few of her belongings. Jedi don’t possess much, and she only takes those things that have meaning for her – holopics, her armour and the kit to take care of it, and the beads her _buire_ press into her hands with proud, trembling smiles, each carved with a symbol of the _Resol’nare_.

“The Master, the Padawan and the Force”, Mace explains as he takes his time braiding her hair, adding the beads her parents gave her.

She let her hair grow for this exact purpose, the dark curls tight and wild, and she smiles when her new Master trims it down according to her wishes, into a traditional Padawan cut. Her braid coils against her skull, behind her ear, falling a bit farther than most Padawans. It is still short, barely reaching past her ear, but Mace has no doubt they’ll see it become long, coloured by many more beads and ribbons as she grows into a wonderful Jedi.

She still gets tunics and robes, for everyday wear – not even Anakin and Obi-Wan wear anything more than their vambraces within the Temple, and not many _Mando’ade_ wear their _beskar’gam_ within their homes. It is a distinct message on her part; the Temple is now her home, her _yaim_ , and the Jedi, part of her family.

That evening, in the mess hall, she is welcomed warmly and enthusiastically by fellow Padawans who are eager to become her friends. Initiates flock around her, attracted by her warmth in the Force. Obi-Wan blinks and, for a second, he no longer sees a teenager, but a Knight, secure in the Force, wearing armour and lightsabre, sure of her purpose. He blinks again, and the vision fades. Depa arrives then and loops an arm around the girl’s shoulders, proudly declaring her _vod’ika_ , from a same lineage, and there is no doubt the two will become fast friends. She smiles when the _Vod’ike_ come up to her without their _buy’ce_ , now that they are within the Temple, and she is luckily too young to see how much they look like the _Mand’alor_ already. Likely, she’d assume they’re Jango’s biological children and leave it at that, but it is still a heavy knowledge to have.

“You’re going to pull out your non-existent hair with her”, Obi-Wan says to Mace as they observe the young girl making friends.  
“Oh yes”, Mace agrees, smiling. “It’ll be worth it, though.”  
“Master Koon said she’s already fairly advanced in her meditations, I assume you won’t wait long to take her to Ilum?”  
“I still need to assess it myself, but from a first appreciation, I’d say within a month. Why?”  
“Anakin will soon be back in Temple, and I’ll need to take him to Ilum as well. His ‘sabre died an unfortunate death and he’ll need another. I thought we might as well make the trip together”, Obi-Wan replies.  
“A sound idea”, Mace agrees, and looks at his student again. “I wonder what kind of ‘sabre she’ll have, and how she will fight. Anakin has made really good progress with Vaapad, it’s a shame this misadventure lost him time and opportunities.”  
“He hasn’t been idle”, Obi-Wan points out, and Mace snorts softly.  
“No, I didn’t say that, but he’s not exactly practicing the kind of ‘sabre play we encourage”, the Master replies, amused. “Not that I blame him, especially after everything that happened. Still, you might want to remind him to be more… discreet.”

Obi-Wan pinches his lips like he just bit into something sour. That is a conversation he very much doesn’t want to have – he had been very grateful, when he’d attempted to give Anakin the Talk, to discover his Padawan knew all he needed to already. Slaves lives were not kind, and the things they knew showed that. He’s at least grateful that it is Master Ti who handles the first introduction to the basics of reproduction with youngling clans. He’s also immensely grateful to Dahl who has apparently taken on what Anakin missed in his education – apparently mistakenly thinking Jedi were celibate and therefore had no sex ed.

“I will”, he sighs.

Mace chuckles, a twinkle in his eyes.

“Don’t complain too much. Imagine his face if _I_ had been the one to remind him of our standing.”

Obi-Wan imagines, and can’t stop himself from laughing. No, it’s definitely a conversation _he_ needs to handle. Anakin would probably die of embarrassment if the Master of the Order called him out on his behaviour. Obi-Wan can’t really blame him: he is pretty sure _he_ would die too, and if he didn’t, Quinlan would certainly hold great pleasure into making sure he did.


	31. Cin Vhetin - Part 21: Ilum.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Devhi and Anakin finally go to Ilum and make themselves lightsabres.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are references/quotes in this chapter, the source will be linked in the end notes. Also, there will probably be a week soon where I won't update. I've been working on my plan for this story and it went just sideways enough that the first plan I wrote needs to be adjusted. I've tried to do that while keeping on writing but it's a bit too complicated, so I'll just take a week off writing this to plan it instead.
> 
> *
> 
> CT-3381 / Skira, blind.  
> CT-3382 / Tracyn, deaf, blond, golden eyes.  
> CT-3383/ Runi, Nautolan.  
> CT-3384/ Naak, Togruta.  
> CT-3385/Haat, autistic.

Anakin, well as he was in Little Manda’yaim, is glad to be back within the Temple after two months living outside of it. He’s glad to be back to living with his Master and his brothers, and his fellow Jedi. He’s glad to finally be rid of Force-dampening devices, his shields strong and tight, he’s glad to touch the Force fully again, his control much finer for all he had to re-learn. He loves being able to feel his bonds to his Master and his brothers again. There is only the matter of his lightsabre; he misses the kyber crystal he had, but he shattered it effectively in his panic.

Devhi has been there for a month and getting a feel for her new life as a Padawan of the Jedi Order, when Obi-Wan and Mace finally decide it is time for them to take their Padawans to Ilum. The ship they use is made to accommodate six, so they’re comfortable; the _Vod’ike_ are staying with Master Plo, Master Fisto and Master Ti, with Master Yoda mostly handling their meditations, and Obi-Wan is slightly worried, especially for Haat. He has never left them for so long, and Haat is used to go to either him or Anakin for comfort. He wonders how he’ll handle the situation, even though he knows his fellow Masters are more than capable enough to deal with it.

The ship isn’t large enough for lightsabre training, and either way, they only have two with them, along with crates of pieces usually kept for older Padawans, Knights and Masters in need of a new ‘sabre – Initiates who build their first ‘sabre do so under Huyang’s supervision, Padawans don’t need his directives anymore. Devhi would have, but she also has a Master ready to guide her and a keen understanding of mechanics. Not as good as Anakin, but she has already tinkered with her armour and she’s only fourteen.

It means they have hand-to-hand and meditation to busy themselves with, along with educational modules to fill, to Anakin’s dismay. Devhi is quite good at keeping her crush under wraps, but to Jedi Masters, and especially with one who didn’t grow within the Order, it is still an obvious thing to see. Obi-Wan notices with slight surprise that his Padawan doesn’t seem so oblivious anymore – if this is a result of his trysts, it is a good one. He is mindful of being friendly and respectful, never calling her out on it, and never encouraging it either.

The two Padawans are soundly pummelling each other in the cargo hold when Mace sits beside Obi-Wan, who is keeping an eye on them through the security cameras while warming his hands around a mug of tea. It’s been a long time since he left Coruscant, he had almost forgotten how cold space could be.

“The Council has deliberated and decided that your Padawan’s experience at the hands of a Sith Lord, and his recovery, will count towards his Knighting, as his Trial of the Flesh. His acclimatation to Mandalorian custom and his dealings with the several factions shall be his Trial of Insight.”

Obi-Wan nearly breaks his cup in shock. He’d known, of course, that Anakin would soon be ready to be Knighted, but he hadn’t expected this. Two Trials out of the Five, when he is only nearing his seventeenth Life-Day… It is faster than he expected.

“Don’t look at me like that”, Mace replies. “Two Trials don’t make him a Knight yet. He still lacks experience on missions now that he is a Senior Padawan, we’ll have to remedy that.”

Obi-Wan lets out a relieved breath. He isn’t ready to let Anakin go, for sure, but even more, Anakin isn’t ready yet. He might be an adult by Mandalorian and Coruscant law, that didn’t mean he is ready to take on the solo mission of a new Knight. There are still many things he needs to learn.

Mace winces when he sees his Padawan savagely elbowing Anakin, who stumbles back and holds up a hand. Davhi looks sheepish, her knuckles bruised and a bruise blooming on her cheekbone. This is far more violent than a usual Padawan spar, but not so much by Mandalorian standards for two young adults intent on bettering themselves.

“They’re going to hurt themselves”, the Master of the Order growls, getting ready to go down in the hold to put a stop to the fight.

Obi-Wan shakes his head.

“Sit down, Mace, they’re alright. They’re sparring rougher than Padawans usually do, it’s true, but they both know the rules for unarmoured sparring.”  
“ _Of course_ this would be a normal thing for Mandalorians”, Mace groans. “What are those rules?”  
“No breaking bones or dislocating anything, no aiming at the eyes, and crotch blows are forbidden. Fight is until one is unconscious or tapping out, but breaks are allowed to assess injuries.”

He takes another sip, ignoring Mace’s splutter. His own body had been blooming with bruises when he first started to train with Sathi. Now, he can hold his own in hand-to-hand, even against them, though he still loses every spar against the Armourer. It is only a matter of time, though. Dahl, he can already beat nine times out of ten, and he’s a good fighter – not _jatnese be te jatnese_ , but very good still. Dahl was never a soldier, after all. Assri is a challenging fighter.

“Skywalker could easily overpower her if he used the Force”, Mace muses. “Is it against the rules?”  
“Neither Anakin nor I have been allowed to fight using the Force while training”, Obi-Wan replies. “It would defeat the purpose of making us able to fight, and fight _well_ , even if we cannot access the Force. I think Anakin has actually gotten better than me at this, being kept from the Force and living in Little Manda’yaim.”  
“You said nothing about your training being so ruthless”, Mace points out.  
“Sathi had a point, though”, Obi-Wan retorts. “I would never have gotten this far without their training. Using the Force is such a reflex when we feel endangered… I’m quite confident saying both Anakin and I could pose as Force-Nulls the way Shadows do.”

Mace takes a deep breath.

“Are you telling me you let Mandalorians put you in Force-dampening cuffs _while_ in the heart of their territory when they were barely non-murderous to Jedi? What is with you and suicidal ideas, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan thinks for a second, a finger sliding over the rim of his cup.

“I had to trust them”, he finally says. “And in trusting them, I encouraged them to trust _me_. It was a gamble, but I dare say we all benefited from it.” He winced slightly, but took a breath. “We now have siblings, a _family_ outside of the Order, and it’s a good thing, I think. I- I wouldn’t have been so desperate to be a Padawan and leaving the only home I knew if there had been such a security net. Don’t”, he says when Mace looks about to protest. “Sending aging out Initiates to the Corps is a good thing _in theory_. I have first-hand experience to say it is needlessly cruel to uproot younglings this way, and deny them something they trained for.” He pauses. “I’m about to say something that will sound brutally honest, that I think you know anyway. If the Order hadn’t been willing to change, if I hadn’t been able to keep my sons, to become Mandalorian, Anakin wouldn’t have stayed a Jedi. Maybe I’d have Knighted him. I don’t know. But he wasn’t made to be a traditional Jedi. He loves deeply and gives more than he has, and the Order failed to give this love back. _I_ failed to give it back, those first years of his Padawanship. His brothers and the Mandalorians, they speak the same love language he does. It is possessive and protective at times, and a fine line to walk… But he would never have been happy as an orthodox Jedi.”

Mace doesn’t answer. He was against training Anakin, when he first arrived. Chosen One or not, the boy had attachments and fear all bundled up under his ability to love and, yes, he has feared this would be his downfall. His opinion started to change as he grew up, but he can honestly say it took a turn when the _Vod’ike_ arrived. This is why he offered to mentor the boy, why he trains him in Vaapad still, when it is such a dangerous technique to master. Anakin has the depth of feelings it needs to be fuelled, but caring for younglings has taught him the control needed to use Vaapad. There is still fear in Skywalker – there might always be. But now, it feels like he really stands a chance.

“Did you know that relationships with Mandalore are still in disarray since your last stunt?” he finally says, changing subjects. “Rumour has it that it triggered a terrible spat between Duchess Kryze and her nephew.”  
“I don’t trust Senate gossip”, Obi-Wan replies wryly, and then frowns. “Her nephew?”  
“Out of the two of us, _you_ should know about it”, Mace retorts.  
“It… Maybe they’re more distantly related”, he muses. “As far as I know, Satine’s only sibling is Bo-Katan. Not only is she younger than Satine, but she is Death-Watch and if she had a child, I heavily doubt she’d entrust them to her New Mandalorian sister.” He shrugs. “But maybe I’m mistaken and she has other siblings, or it is, like I said, a more distant relative.”

He tries to play it cool, but- Satine never said anything about other siblings, and she had no child waiting for her when he was on Mandalore, so the nephew must be quite young, making news of such a spat, if spat there indeed is, all the more strange. It saddens him all the more that she apparently abandoned the Mandalorian practices of adoption – she could be that child’s _buir_ , instead of simply an aunt. Really, New Mandalorians have lost too much of their culture. He didn’t know then, but he knows better now; knows that the Republic sent Jedi to aid a government that would benefit it, but that was not legitimate in the least. That being said, with Jango Fett in the wind, the only options left are Satine and Pre Vizsla.

“A part of me knows I should have an actual adult conversation with her”, he finally sighs. “But I’m not sure I can stand to set foot on a Mandalore where _beskar’gam_ is banned, nor to see a woman I loved so dearly being a stranger to me.” He picks at his mug, lost in his memories. “She wasn’t so radical, when we met. She taught me Mando’a, and it wasn’t just to help me hide and infiltrate Death Watch facilities. But the more violence she saw, the more she was persuaded pacifism was the only way to end it. New Mandalorians have killed what made them Mandalorians.”  
“Given what happened the last time you two met, I’d suggest you hold on from doing anything”, Mace replies wryly. “Tell me what it means, to a True Mandalorian, to _be_ Mandalorian. I want to actually help my Padawan.”

Obi-Wan laughs, and tells him.

Ilum is cold. Devhi is the only one who didn’t know that; who hasn’t experienced its biting cold. She still hasn’t, clad in her _beskar’gam_ and thermal underlayer, her surprise echoing in the Force when the Temple opens for them. Anakin looks at the entrance of the cave with determination, and Obi-Wan sends him a soothing caress through their bond. His Padawan hates this place because of the terrible headaches it gives him, the kyber all noisy to him. Finding _his_ kyber is trying to isolate a lone note in a discordance of sounds, and is always overwhelming. Devhi seems more curious, her _buy’ce_ hiding her expression, but there is also a hint of apprehension in her Force-presence.

“Come on”, Anakin says, tilting his head, “we’ve got no time to lose.”

She falls into steps with him, and their Masters settle to wait for them, watching them disappear in the depths of the cave system. The light seems to fall away, but Anakin is used to walking these tunnels without light, his steps sure as the Force guides him. Devhi sticks close to him, her _buy’ce_ showing her her surroundings with night vision, growing more and more disquieted as they go deeper. Gently, Anakin offers her a heavily gloved hand and she clings to it, trying to be brave like she was taught to and yet the eeriness of the place gets to her.

“DEVHI”, she hears, a yell for her name, and she wheels on her heels, finding herself facing a tunnel.  
“Go”, Anakin tells her, letting go of her hand and gently ushering her forward. “Go, and don’t look back.”

She nods, and steps farther, alone, her senses open to the Force. Soon, she can’t feel Anakin anymore, her bond with her Master still new enough that it has stretched beyond its limits. She’s all alone.

“Devhi!”  
“Devhi!”  
“DEVHI!”

Ten, a hundred, thousand of voices call out to her and she can’t tell where they come from – her _buy’ce_ tells her there is no one but her here, and moved by the Force, she takes it off and hooks it to her belt. Her breathing is ragged and she is not ashamed to admit to herself that she is frightened. Then, she hears steps, and a strangely mechanical breathing. Just as she starts to make out a massive, dark silhouette, there is a buzzing sound and a beam of red light appears – a lightsabre, held by a gigantic humanoid creature that radiates something so _terrible_ her scream remains lodged in her throat. She takes a step back – she has nothing to fight with, nothing-

The creature – it must be a man, but what kind of man is that – steps closer still, and her feet refuse to move until it is standing right in front of her. A gloved hand cups her cheek and she can feel its cold leather and a cloying, oily feeling of something _dark_ settling over her.

“You should run while you still can”, the creature says in a deep mechanical voice.

She has heard about Sith in her people’s stories, she has heard about them within the Temple: she knows this is a Sith Lord. And she also knows that for some reason, she isn’t dead yet.

“W-Who are you?” she finally manages to ask, her voice nothing more than a whisper.

The hand is still there, on her cheek, so large it could probably crush her head.

“When the time comes, will you strike?” the figure asks. “Will you do what others can’t?”  
“What?”, she asks again, her voice fainter.  
_“Kaysh sirbu kyr’n’adenn”_, someone else answers – the voice distorted by a Mandalorian vocoder.

A _Mando’ade_ in scuffed gold armour hands her a blaster, and she takes it, and- she knows she must kill the Sith, she knows there is blood on his hand that she can’t, that she shouldn’t forgive. He takes his helmet off and- she cries out in horror when she faces her brother, the one closest to her, his eyes eerily gold and red-rimmed.

“You must do it”, the gold clad Mandalorian tells her.  
“Only you can do it”, her brother says – his face shifts a second to someone else – and his hands are dripping with the blood of younglings.

The blaster trembles in her hand, or rather, its her hand that trembles, and the blaster shakes with it. _Can you do what I couldn’t?_ a voice asks, gently, sad. _Can you kill a brother?_ She wants to yell that she doesn’t know.

“ _Ni ceta_ ”, she whispers instead.

She closes her eyes when she fires, and lets her hand fall to crumple on the ground, crying and gasping for breath. When she opens her eyes, she is alone and there is no trace of the Sith or the golden-clad Mandalorian. Instead, something sings softly and shines in front of her, and she picks up the small, glowing crystal. It settles against her soul, and for a second, she can almost hear the ka’ra talking to her.

Anakin looks as Devhi marches away, until she’s out of sight. He closes his eyes, and sinks into the Force, searching for the song that will call out to him, diving deeper and deeper until he finds it. It is, of course, on top of a cliff, and he climbs nimbly to get it. There are two crystals, one next to the other, calling out to him. He takes them, and can feel the Force rearing up for a vision. He closes his eyes, and opens himself to it.

“You could save them”, a voice suggests, honeyed and dangerous and it makes him want to growl in threat as his family and friends’ faces flit through his mind.

He sees the burning sand of Tatooine and a tomb bearing his mother’s name. He sees Obi-Wan, fallen to a traitorous blaster-bolt.

His own hands drenched in the blood of innocents.

“This was meant to _save_ them”, he hears himself cry, oh Force, what has he done?!

_Everything dies, Anakin Skywalker_ , a voice whispers, gentle, like a brush to his cheek.  


_Even stars burn out_ , another adds, petting his hair.  


_Everything dies_ , Obi-Wan says.  


_Everything dies_ , Padmé laughs.  


_Everything dies_ , a boy with dark hair and golden eyes whispers.  


_Don’t look back_ , his mother says – he is nine again, about to leave her, perhaps forever.  


_Don’t look back_ , a man in _beskar’gam_ he doesn’t know says, grabbing his chin and tilting his head away.  


_Don’t look back_ , Master Jinn whispers, body pierced by a Sith blade, even though he never saw it.  


_Everything dies_ , a blond man says brokenly, blood staining his lips.  


_Don’t look back_ , a Togruta girl smiles.

_No fetter can hold the Sky-walker forever_, a million of voices seem to say. _The chain has not been made which can never be broken._

_There is no Death, there is the Force_ , even more whisper to him, warmth settling over him, a sense of togetherness – he is not alone, he has never been, he will never be, even in the darkest night. Breathing deeply, he opens his eyes again, feels the caress of the Force, of a hundred, thousands of hands brushing against his skin and helping him up. Sliding the two kybers in a small, safe pocket of his belt, he jumps down the cliff and catches himself with the Force to make the trek back to his Master.

He’s halfway there when Devhi comes running out of a corridor, and throws herself at him. He catches her reflexively and tightens his grip when he feels her shaking, wracked with sobs. The whole experience is harrowing, and Devhi didn’t have it any easier, it seemed.

“ _Udesii, vod_”, he ushes, a hand cupping her head – she has taken her _buy’ce_ off. “Breathe with me. There”, he says gently as she slowly calms down, breathing deeply and settling into a light meditation. “All good?”

She’s still trembling slightly, but she nods anyway and pulls away, putting her helmet back on.

“I got it”, she declares, and he smiles.  
“So do I. Let’s get out of here, I’m freezing my _shebs_ off even through the thermals.”

They don’t talk about what they saw – no one really does, kyber-finding visions are always deeply personal and powerful. Devhi has been visibly shaken, but Anakin, even though he maintained the mask of serenity he learnt to craft – hilariously, not with the Jedi, but with the Mandalorians, playing Sabbacc and lying through his teeth – is not less distraught and unbalanced. Their Masters give them time to recover, making them hot beverages and wrapping them in blankets. Anakin sets to meditation without even being prompted, needing it to sort his thoughts, his vision, memories dredged from his past – the stories the slaves taught him to save his life, which he in turn taught his brothers to save theirs. Devhi, still unused to the habit, follows Master Windu’s guidance.

It is only later that the two Padawans find themselves amidst tools and lightsabre parts, carefully crafting weapons holding a part of their souls. Anakin wondered, for a moment, what he would do with two crystals, but he wonders no longer, the Force guiding his hand. His Master thought it would be a multi-crystal blade – very powerful, but rarely used these days. Instead, he finds himself crafting a traditional lightsabre, and then a shorter blade with it. Technically a shoto blade, but- It is not exactly a matching set, and the blade is shorter than a traditional jar-kai user would need. More of a dagger, the beam of light not even as long as his forearm. The handle is shorter and smaller, and a lot lighter than a ‘sabre would be.

Devhi is taking her time and, to no one’s surprise, she uses the _beskar_ her family gave her to shape her weapon, both in the inner parts and for the casing. She engraves the handle with the _Resol’nare_ , the Mando’a letters striking on the traditionally Jedi weapon, and yet it sings with light and good, with balance. It isn’t a surprise, when she finally lights it, that the blade is a striking yellow – the colour of Temple Guards, of protectors, the last ones holding the line. Mace radiates quiet pride, and gently tugs on her braid.

“A wonderful blade, Padawan”, he says. “Now, you need to familiarize with it.”

They practice katas, over and over and over, attuning to their new blades, balancing with the crystals, and Devhi finally understands why they say a Jedi’s lightsabre is their life. The kyber sings with her soul, matching her, and she would cry tears of joy at the feeling of being _whole_ , not because she was broken, but because she can be part of something so much bigger.

In the hold, Anakin looks at the shorter blade he crafted, weighing it. It feels natural in his hand. He has trained with daggers and vibroblades, but this is different. He flicks it off, puts it down beside him, and in a few quick strikes, lands his throwing knives in the practice dummy. He doesn’t need the Force for his aim to be true, not with this. But he still wraps it around his arm and his blade when he picks the lightdagger up again, flicks up a small piece, and throws it. It lands true, and he feels- something he cannot put words on.

_Everything dies, Anakin Skywalker. Even stars burn out._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _jatnese be te jatnese_ : the best of the best.  
>  _Kaysh sirbu kyr’n’adenn_ : He means mercy-kill. [NB: _kyr'n'adenn_ is a word I made up to express the idea of killing something out of mercy, usually an animal in the wild that cannot be saved.]  
>  _Ni ceta_ : I'm sorry (lit: I kneel; one of the deepest apology that can be made.).  
>  _Udesii, vod_ : (here) Calm down, sister.  
>  _shebs_ : ass.
> 
> ###  Quotes 
> 
> * _Everything dies, Anakin Skywalker. Even stars burn out._ is a quote from the novelization of _Revenge of the Sith_ by Matthew Stover. (N/A: I am very, very fond of this line. The French translation even rhymes, which is pretty cool "Tout m **eurt** , Anakin Skywalk **er**. Même les étoiles se consumment.)
> 
> * _No fetter can hold the Sky-walker forever._ _[...]The chain has not been made which can never be broken._: these are both direct quotes of [The Slave Who Makes Free](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12929895) by Fialleril in the Double-Agent Vader series. If you haven't read it, you should, as it has influenced most of the depictions of slave-culture in the SW fandom.


	32. Interlude - Kot'tigaanu: Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things go sideways for Ima-Gun Di.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a terrorist attack and its results.

They are mid-meditation when the explosion happens. Ima-Gun has barely enough time to use the Force as a shield and protect his students – the sixty-five of them, from the barely twenty they were when they began. It still punches the air out of his lungs when he feels five of those lights brutally go out, the five who were closest to the explosion. It twists his stomach further when he realizes that one of them was just a child. Thankfully, the structure of the building is light enough that even when it collapses, it doesn’t simply crush them. He is even prouder when he feels his Mandalorian students unite forces to repel the rubble, assess the situation and see what is going on. His ears are ringing, he can’t quite hear anything, but he sees them as though through warped glass, standing up, helping the injured, looking around to see what attacked them.

Mandalorians. They are being attacked by their own brothers, wearing the traditional colours of Death Watch. They rise immediately, gathering the youngest to take them to safety.

_“Aruetiise!”_ both sides claim – one for attacking their own clans, their own factions; the other, for siding with _Jetiise_.  
“ _Mhi kyr’amu Jetii, bal mhi ven’digu gar aruetyc nare_”, one of their assailants bellows.  
“ _Nu draar_”, one snarls. “ _Kaysh be’cuun. Mhi Jetii._”  
“Come, Ima”, Aay says, sliding a shoulder under his arm and hoisting him up, “We’re falling back.”

Ima-Gun’s Mando’a is tenuous at best, but the words ring with importance in the Force.

“No”, he slurs, “must- defend you.”

Aay huffs behind their helmet, and start to hoist him away from the battle.

“You’re heavily concussed, probably on the verge of Force-exhaustion, and their primary target. You must fall back, _jare jetii_. Let us protect you, like you protected us.”  
“Your brothers-”

Aay snarls.

“They are no brothers of mine, if they dare attack clans who follow the _Resol’nare_. They killed Ori. _Dar’manda demagolkase_ , all of them. Not my brothers.”

Ima-Gun sends a confused glance at the Death Watch insignia on Aay’s pauldron, but his thoughts are fuzzy and Aay is doing his best to take him away from the battle. He must fall unconscious, as when he opens his eyes again, two hours have passed, and the battle is won. They have lost three warriors more from the fight, and two succumbed to their wounds.

Ten. Ten dead, amongst which one child and two teenagers. Ima-Gun can’t bring himself to wrap his head around it. Children died because he tried to help them. Aay, who saved his life, has fallen asleep at his bedside, face smudged and eyes red-rimmed from tears shed. He takes a breath, feels the gaps in the Force where the dead used to be. _There is no Death, there is the Force_. It doesn’t feel as comforting as it should be, and he finally manages to heave out the sob lodged in his chest. The noise makes Aay’s head shoot up, and the Mandalorian, tugs him close gently, pressing their foreheads together.

“I’m sorry”, Ima-Gun finally manages to say. “They died because of me.”  
“ _Nayc_ ”, Aay replies fiercely, “you didn’t force them to do this.” He breathes. “Your quick reaction saved fifty-five lives, Ima. Including mine. The _Resol’nare_ doesn’t ask us to be your enemies.” He pauses. “We are sending word, to all who would fight beside the Jedi for our right to learn from you, our right to be your allies. We have _ramikade_ investigating it, but so far, it looks like it was an isolated cell that attacked.”  
“ _Kyr’stad_ ”, Ima-Gun still says, pointing out that they were his House.  
“And some of the surviving _Haat Mando’ade_ ”, Aay retorts. “Seeking vengeance for Galidraan.”

It should have been expected, Ima-Gun supposes. He’s only surprised it took this long for them to react.

“Your _Mand’alor_ didn’t tell you to kill the Jedi?” Ima-Gun finally asks, perplex.  
“They said to wait and observe”, Aay replies. “I don’t answer to Jango Fett, Ima. You said it yourself: I’m Death Watch, and that isn’t likely to change.”

 _Wait and observe_ , Ima-Gun repeats for himself. He doesn’t know whether that should worry him or not.

*

Pre resists the urge to throw his glass at the wall. It’s not Bo-Katan’s fault she comes bearing bad news, though it _is_ her fault that she seems to quietly agree with what was done. He hates how his father conditioned the most fanatic of his followers to hate anyone who isn’t Death Watch. It’s _stupid_. The _Mando’ade_ are gaining power, control over the Force, and getting over-all more cohesive thanks to the Jedi. His people are _benefitting_ from these _narudare_, but the Stewjoni are apparently hell-bent on making his plans fail.

They killed a child. It doesn’t surprise him that much coming from Stewjoni, much more from former _Haat Mando’ade_. But, he supposes, everyone has a breaking point. His father made a point of that – of breaking warriors and children alike to mould them into what he thought was a _Mando’ad_. Warmongers who take what they need from the people they subdue. _Haat Mando’ade_ are still too weak to his taste, but Death Watch is… this barely leashed beast that would devour itself, and everything around. The training camps curb the most blood-thirsty of them, and try as he might, the recent changes brought by the Jedi have drawn the ones he groomed himself away from him.

It enrages him, as much as it satisfies him. Warriors who find no honour in the contracts _Haat Mando’ade_ lived on, who find it a travesty of their heritage, but who are not _cruel_ per se, nor void of honour, would be appealed by this strange truce with an ancient enemy, and new things to learn, powers that have killed them to control and make them gain strength. His politics worked, in a way, but it also means he is getting deprived of his power base and remaining with a pack of strills ready to tear him to pieces if he missteps. Bo-Katan is good proof of that.

“I had said to wait and see”, he seethes finally, and she holds back a flinch.  
“The Stewjoni are growing restless with inaction against this _Jetii_ corruption of our people”, she replies. “ _’Alor_ , they burned down our world, _slaughtered_ the _Haat Mando’ade_ , and steal others’ children-”

He wants to laugh at her for the deep irony of that. The Jedi were the weapon his father used to push Jaster’s welp out of the way, but it was Death Watch’s hand wielding it. As for stealing children… They don’t call it that, of course, but this is what they do. Take children from so-called Mandalorians – he has to admit it _is_ satisfying to steal New Mandalorian children and raise them as they should be – and make them into something… Well. He still hasn’t found a way to make it less horrific, to keep up with appearances and appease his conscience. He supposes, his father will have won, if his conscience ever quiets at this blatant flouting of the _Resol’nare_ , and as time ticks by, his own victory fades more and more.

“Bo-Katan”, he says, sweetly, and she clamps her mouth shut, recognizing the threat for what it is. “ _You_ were supposed to control the Stewjoni faction. I entrusted them to _you_. This is your failure.”

She gulps, but doesn’t look away. Her spine is made of steel, and she could be oh so strong, were it not for the cracks his father left.

“ _Elek, ‘Alor. Ni trattok’o gar. Ni ceta._”  
“Apologies don’t make the problem go away just because you want it, Kat’ika. I don’t care about your apologies. They are no use to me. What I _want_ is that you rectify this… failure. Do whatever you think is needed, but keep the Stewjoni in line. And”, he warns, “do _not_ lay a finger on any _Jetii_ or any of the _Kot’tigaanu_. I would be most displeased if you or any of yours did.”

She nods sharply, knocks her fist against her heart, and leaves. He waits for her to be gone before he sags down and rubs his brow. He wants to strangle the damn _jetii_ who started this whole mess, and at the same time, he wants to laugh himself sick.

Even with years passed, he would recognize _Ben Naasade_ anywhere. You just didn’t find that shade of red hair anywhere, nor such blue eyes. In retrospective, it explains a lot about “Ben”’s behaviour, when he’d been amongst them. A _Jetii_ spy, working for Satine. He also doesn’t think he is wrong in assuming he is Korkie’s sire, not when the kid looks so much like him. He remembers teaching Ben how to stab just right to kill most humanoids, right in the kidneys.

He wonders if Obi-Wan remembers, too – if his Mando’a still holds the rough Concord Dawn accent, or if it has the sickly-sweet inflections of Sundari. He wonders if it is yet too late to win him to his cause.

Unlike the Stewjoni, he knows exactly what a _Jetii_ ally is worth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _aruetiise_ : traitors.  
>  _Mhi kyr’amu Jetii, bal mhi ven’digu gar aruetyc nare_ : We [will] kill the Jedi, and your traitorous acts will be forgotten.  
>  _Nu draar_ : No way. Absolutely not. Never in a million years. Not on your life. (Emphatic disagreement and doubt. Lit: Not never. Mandos use double negatives for emphasis.)  
>  _Kaysh be’cuun. Mhi Jetii._ : He belongs to us. Our Jedi.  
>  _jare jetii_ : suicidal Jedi.  
>  _dar'manda demagolkase_ : no literal translation; it implies that the terrorists are not Mandalorian/no longer Mandalorians, and that they are absolute monsters.  
>  _ramikade_ : commandos.  
>  _narudare_ : temporary ally \- specifically your enemy's enemy, where both sides know this is an alliance of convenience and not a lasting pact.  
>  _Elek, ‘Alor. Ni trattok’o gar. Ni ceta._ : Yes, sir. I failed you. I apologize.  
>  _Kot'tigaanu_ : Force-Touched, ie. Force-Sensitive.


	33. Cin Vhetin - Part 22: Kote kyr'am.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> News of the attack reach Little Manda'yaim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is... sad. I ended on a happier note so it's no a complete downer, but be warned still, as this chapter mostly deals with funerals and grieving.
> 
> CT-3381 / Skira, blind.  
> CT-3382 / Tracyn, deaf, blond, golden eyes.  
> CT-3383/ Runi, Nautolan.  
> CT-3384/ Naak, Togruta.  
> CT-3385/Haat, autistic.

News of the attack on Kuat reach the Temple and Little Manda’yaim in the evening. Obi-Wan is training with Sathi when they receive the comm alert sent by the Armourer based on Kuat.

“Oh Force”, Obi-Wan breathes, feeling Sathi shuttering off in the Force.

They are angry, but they keep it under wraps as they send the pre-recorded message to all Mandalorians in the sector for a gathering in the _Jatnese_ , one hour later. Obi-Wan comms the Temple, and receives news that Master Di’s days aren’t in danger, and to remain with the Mandalorians. Anakin is coming, Devhi exceptionally out with him, along with Iolar, and they arrive not long before Sathi starts talking.

The _Jatnese_ is packed with armoured Mandalorians of all Clans and Houses – but no Stewjoni is in sight. Given the facts, it shouldn’t be that surprising. There is an anxious buzzing in the Force: few already know what happened, and those who do are directly concerned. They lost clan-members in that attack, on one side or the other. Devhi immediately goes to her family – they say nothing but the way her brother Korkie hugs her tightly suggest they lost someone.

“At eleven this morning”, Sathi says, and they all hold their breath, “there was an attack on the _Kot’tigaanu_ class of Kuat, led by Stewjoni and several _dar’manda_ who formerly belonged to Death Watch and Old Clans.”

The tension climbs even more. They all know that those classes include many children – to attack one is a direct move against the _Resol’nare_. That the Armourers have all decided to declare those _dar’manda_ is a powerful declaration: agreeing with the Jedi or not, harming children can never be condoned.

“Of the sixty-five learning there, ten died as a result of the attack and following fight. Seven _Mando’ade_ marched away today, and with them, two of our young and one _adiik_. Thirty-three were wounded, including the Jedi Master teaching there, whose actions saved many of those lives.” They pause. “Our _vode_ won that fight and drove the enemy to retreat after important losses. Tonight, we will mourn together and grieve their loss”, they declare, as Am and Dahl finish setting up some sort of small pyre.

“ _Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum_ ”, they reply, waiting for the names.

Shot-glasses are passed around, filled to the brim, but no one drinks. A massive Togruta steps forwards, glass in hand, armour very clearly Death Watch – not only that, but a loyalist who didn’t see the changes as a good thing, but refused to act against them. Only waiting, and observing. Obi-Wan knows he is from Clan Vizsla, but not much. He never lingered much around them, especially knowing of the tensions within Clan Vizsla after their leader, Pre, became governor of Concordia in Satine’s pacifist government.

“Kanna, Clan Vizsla. _Ner riduur. Taab’echaaj’la o’r kote, cyare_”, he declares, pouring the shot into the fire, making it roar for a few seconds.

Soundlessly, he retreats back into the crowd – brimming with fury under the durasteel of his armour. There is so much of it, it feels choking. Several follow – three from the same Clan, belonging to Death Watch, with different parting words. Sathi draws forward, clutching a glass in their hand.

“Villaan, Clan Nott. _Cuyi shal naak, ner vod’ika._”

Dahl gives them a second glass, and Sathi stares into it for a long moment in suffocating silence, Dahl’s hand wrapped around theirs.

“Half a glass”, he says, voice cracking, “for a life cut short.”

They nod jerkily and the alcohol sloshes in the glass as they pour half of it into the fire.

“O-Ori”, Sathi finally manages to say, “Ori, Clan Nott.”

They don’t say anything else and stagger on their feet, Dahl keeping an arm around them and taking them back to the crowd. Obi-Wan doesn’t say a thing when Anakin takes his hand and grips it tight, only squeezes back and sending some comfort through their bond. Sathi is a private person, but they have both spent enough time with them to know how proud they are of their nephew, Ori – the young son of their younger brother.

Helmets thankfully muffle sobs, but it doesn’t make it any easier when pain is written on so many bodies. The two teenagers belonged to the same Clan, Deshra, and to them must be added their _buir_ who died protecting them. Death Watch has been very heavily touched by the attack, which seems even more senseless when they’ve been attacked by members of their own House. Devhi’s brother, Korkie, is the last one to come to the fire, both hands wrapped around his glass.

“Cal, Clan Mev. _Vor entye, ba’vodu Cal. Par an._”

He slowly pours the glass into the fire, and goes back to his family, sliding his hand into his _riduur_ ’s. The fire will burn all night long, in echo of the pyres built for the dead on Kuat. The _kote kyr’am_ will be held there, Clan members shouting into the night, brawling and drinking – but here, in Little Manda’yaim, there is not enough space to do so safely. The _Jatnese_ is crowded already with everyone gathered there. There will be drinking, and retelling of feats and chanting, but many will leave the grieving clans to mourn together.

Obi-Wan is wondering whether he should leave Devhi with her family or take her back to the Temple when she comes up to him. She has her _buy’ce_ on, but she still feels fragile in the Force.

“I can’t stand it here”, she whispers. “I want to go home.”

 _I want to cry myself to sleep_ , she doesn’t say, _and I want my family to grieve without worrying about me_. Obi-Wan opens his arms slightly and she hugs him tightly, barely holding herself together.

“Alright”, he says.

He wanted to offer Sathi some comfort, soothe her pain in the Force, but they are gone already – likely to mourn in privacy with their clan, where they’ll be able to take off their _buy’ce_. He pokes at Anakin through their bond, but his Padawan shakes his head.

 _I’m staying_ , he says, even though Obi-Wan knows how painful this must be to one so open to the Force. He sends him a comforting touch, and guides Devhi to the speeder he used to come down, sending a message to Mace before he drives away. Devhi takes her helmet off in the car to wipe her eyes and blow her nose, and she takes a shaking breath.

“ _Ba’vodu_ Cal… He wanted”, she gulps trying not to cry again, “he wanted me to be a Jedi. He said I was made for it. He was so proud, he-” she cuts herself off to breathe deeply. “He wanted to see me become a Knight.”

For a second, Obi-Wan sees a shimmer around her, hears a gentle voice – the one he has come to associate with the _ka’ra_ , on the rare times he manages to feel them – and Devhi relaxes slightly, her presence muffled as though shielded by someone else. Obi-Wan keep his eye on the traffic, but he nearly flinches and sends them careening into it when he catches a glimpse of armour – unpainted _beskar_ , glimmering in the city’s lights – wrapping gently around Devhi’s shoulder.

Mace is waiting by the entrance when they arrive, and Devhi launches herself out of the speeder and straight into his chest. He catches her without even staggering and holds her tightly, wrapping his robes around her like a shield as he gently pets her hair. She weeps and he holds her, and it is all she needs for now. He asks something, too softly for Obi-Wan to hear, before heaving her up and carrying her into the Temple, her face buried in his shoulder.

Obi-Wan doesn’t follow immediately, looking up at the star-less sky. The light pollution means they can never be seen from Coruscant itself. The Force seems heavy with grief, even though he knows it is only his own and some he carried over from Little Manda’yaim.

“There is no Death, there is the Force”, he whispers to himself.

For a second, he hears the laughter of a child, his eyes closed as he takes in the night and searches for peace. When he opens his eyes, there is a Mandalorian standing in front of him, though there is something strange and staticky about his presence.

“ _Cuyi dral, vod’ika. Darasuum._”

There is an echo to his words, that seems to grow stronger, as the wind rises.

“ _Motir ca’tra nau tracinya. Gra’tua cuun hett su dralshy’a_”, thousands of voices seem to sing, and he feels his heart beat faster, and closes his eyes, pushing the feeling away.

The singing disappears, leaving only the noises of Coruscant around him, and he lets himself cry.

Death Watch seems to disappear overnight. When Obi-Wan returns to Little Manda’yaim to see how everyone is holding up, Iolar coming with him, all those who belonged to Death Watch are gone. Dahl looks up from behind the bar, where he is cleaning up glasses. He looks like he hasn’t slept, which is probably what happened. There are people snoring on the tables, but Obi-Wan only sees Old Clans. Clan Bralor is gone, and so is Clan Wren, and those of Clan Reau who were on planet.

“The _Mand’alor_ called”, Iolar says, “and they answered.” He looks up. “I should be with them.”

Obi-Wan’s heart skips a beat.

“Does this mean war?” he asks, masking his fear.

Iolar tips his head aside.

“No”, he says. “Not yet. The _Mand’alor_ will have some explaining to do, but we all had our orders. We all knew not to touch the _Jetiise_ and any who associated with them. Death Watch isn’t responsible for yesterday’s massacre, and there will be retribution.”  
“What do you See”, Obi-Wan breathes, skin prickling with a premonition.  
“A spider tangled in a web of its own doing”, Iolar answers, reaching out to something invisible. “There are many paths possible still, for better or for worse.” He plucks at thin air. “There could be light where only darkness was possible”, he adds. “Opportunities given.”

Iolar holds out a hand, and Obi-Wan takes it, closing his eyes and reaching out, sliding into the opening Iolar made in his shields to share his vision. An armour of white with silver and teal markings. Pain, excruciating pain mixed with indescribable joy. He sees Mandalorian lilies blooming, watered by tears. He sees… He sees Luminara, laughing, and it feels like a memory but it isn’t one.

“The best future”, Iolar breathes. “A path that had been closed until now. But only one can choose to walk it, and it is neither you nor me.”

Obi-Wan feels peace, knowing such a future is possible. He clings to the light Iolar offered, praying the Force to guide whoever needs it to make this happen. Iolar squeezes his hand, grinning.

“I See good news coming soon.”  
“How sure are these?” Obi-Wan asks.  
“Oh, nearly inevitable now”, Iolar smiles. “The _ka’ra_ have been plotting.”

Obi-Wan nearly calls the _ka’ra_ meddlesome, but then, the Jedi are no better. Just because he can’t seem to communicate with Jedi who have passed into the Force like he can with the previous _Mand’alore_ doesn’t mean they aren’t just as involved in their lives.

“Well, I hope they know what they’re doing”, he finally says.

Iolar doesn’t answer, but his expression is gleeful as he tucks away in his memories the glorious vision of Korkie Kryze falling into his father’s arms. He could warn Obi-Wan. He could. But where would be the fun in that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _kote kyr'am_ : Lit. « glory death », ceremony to honour fallen warriors who died facing impossible odds.  
>  _adiik_ : child between 3 and 13.  
>  _Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum_ : Daily remembrance of those passed on: "I'm still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal." Followed by repetition of loved ones' names.  
>  _Ner riduur. Taab’echaaj’la o’r kote, cyare_ : My spouse. March away in glory, beloved.  
>  _Cuyi shal naak, ner vod’ika._ : Be at peace, my little brother.  
>  _Vor entye, ba’vodu Cal. Par an._ : Thank you, Uncle Cal. For everything. (lit: for all).  
>  _Cuyi dral, vod’ika. Darasuum._ : Be strong, little brother. Forever.  
>  _Motir ca’tra nau tracinya. Gra’tua cuun hett su dralshy’a_ : Those who stand before us light the night sky in flame. Our vengeance burns brighter still. (Lyrics of Gra’tua Cuun)


	34. Cin Vhetin - Part 23: Growth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You probably noticed there was no update last week: that is because I used the time alloted to Deliver Us for planning. Now, though, as NaNoWriMo is here, I'm hoping to write a few chapters in advance so I can plan and still post.
> 
> *
> 
> CT-3381 / Skira, blind.  
> CT-3382 / Tracyn, deaf, blond, golden eyes.  
> CT-3383/ Runi, Nautolan.  
> CT-3384/ Naak, Togruta.  
> CT-3385/Haat, autistic.

Death Watch comes back just as silently as it went, though it is not the same massive exode. Instead, they trickle back in, one after the other. Now, though, now there is something hanging heavily overhead. Obi-Wan cannot say whether it is a good or a bad thing – it simply is. He trusts in the Force, and focuses on his sons instead.

The only missing part of their plastoid armour is the thigh-plates, now. Himself and Anakin still miss the _buy’ce_ that will come with swearing to the _Resol’nare_. It is not time yet, apparently, and Dahl is adamant on getting Anakin through his _verd’goten_. Obi-Wan himself escapes it by virtue of being a Jedi Knight already: Mandalorians have, it seems, come to an agreement that the Knighting Trials are infinitely harder than a _verd’goten_.

Now, standing in a cold training room in the early morning with a hot cup of tea and his robes wrapped around him, Obi-Wan is at peace. Anakin is leading his brothers through their _Shii-cho_ stances, and it scares Obi-Wan a bit how quickly they got those. They’re balanced and graceful and- Jedi learn fast, but they learn even faster, wrapped in one layer of under-tunics and training-sabre in hand. They don’t look like Initiates who started sabre-training a mere three months ago – rather, like they’ve been learning it for half a year already at least.

Watching Jedi train together is always an eerie thing for a non-Force-Sensitive; after all, without the Force, gaining this kind of simultaneous actions would take hours and hours and hours of training. The Jedi move as one, breathe as one – for all intent and purpose, they are one with the Force, one _in_ the Force, and it shows. The Force-bonds his sons have with each other are something else entirely. Obi-Wan shivers just thinking about it – sometimes, he gets flashes of things to come, and he sees them moving with each other in such unison it leaves him breathless.

“And I thought having a twin was weird”, Iolar huffs, repositioning Bodhi on his shoulder, the little boy gnawing happily on his robes and drooling over them.  
“Force-Sensitive twins always share something special”, Obi-Wan replies, thinking of the twin sisters Tiplar and Tiplee, Jedi Knights who were apprenticed to the same Master because of their bond. “With them, it’s that, multiplied by five. _Su’cuy_ , Bodhi”, he adds, ruffling Bodhi’s dark hair.  
“It is”, Iolar breathes, his eyes far away as the Force surges through him. “Sharing the same space. Batchmates are something special.” He shakes himself off. “ _Ka’ra_ I hate it”, he growls, tightening his grip over Bodhi.  
“What did you see”, Obi-Wan breathes, scared but needing to know.

Iolar shakes his head.

“Nothing you ought to know”, he replies, but his fingers are trembling, his presence closed off in the Force. Instead, he takes a deep breath and resumes: “Have you heard? My Clan officially renounced me. Declared me _dar’manda_.” He smiles bitterly. “I gave Bodhi a new name just to have it taken away.”  
“You could take mine”, Obi-Wan offers, not looking at him. “I’d welcome you in my Clan.”  
“ _Vor’e, vod_. But not yet. I need… I need to find myself first.”

It is all he says on the matter, but Obi-Wan understands. He remembers what it was like, on Melida-Daan. To no longer be a Jedi. He didn’t know what he was then, but he knew what he had to do. He nods slightly, and Iolar seems to relax. He doesn’t linger, intending to go find some breakfast, and Obi-Wan is left alone again, watching over his _ade_. Anakin is on the last dredges of adolescence, but he won’t shed them for another year or two yet – he’s tall, but very thin. His shoulders will broaden, and Obi-Wan can discern the man he will be one day soon. His training has given him wiry muscles, and it would be all too easy to pass him off as some kind of desert feral being. He eats – that’s nearly all he does, Obi-Wan swears this boy is a bottomless pit – but it is only enough to sustain his growth.

His sons have lost the roundness of their younger years and shot up like weeds, Naak taller than his brothers already, and Obi-Wan wonders if they will be taller than the one who gave his DNA to make them. Skira insists on growing his hair and Obi-Wan only trims the damaged parts, so that the luscious black curls fall heavily to the middle of his back. Obi-Wan still has to help him wash it to be sure it is done properly, and spends a long moment each morning and each evening combing through it, working the knots off, and braiding the whole into one thick braid so it is not all over the place.

Tracyn’s hair is less tightly curled, more wavy, as pale blond as Anakin’s once was. He wears it long enough to frame his face and cover the upper part of his nape, but not long enough to tie up. His eyes are a golden-honey, warm and full of mirth. He also has the worst sweet tooth Obi-Wan has seen in a while, except for his own, and a love for setting things of fire that would certainly be worrying were he not Mandalorian _and_ raised beside one Anakin “can I put it on fire” Skywalker.

Haat is the last one to have hair that needs caring, and certainly the less trying one. He can’t stand having his hair grow and so gets a monthly cut. At first, Obi-Wan simply buzzed it all down, but as his sons grew up and he got more proficient with the hair clipper, he managed to keep it slightly longer on top. It is still strangely militaristic in shape, but Haat insists on it. How it is “regulation haircut”, Obi-Wan can only guess, and he hates the implications.

Runi’s head-tentacles are kept in a leather headband embedded with shiny rocks and seashells, courtesy of Kit Fisto, and Obi-Wan keeps applying bacta-laced cream to his whole body to keep him from chafing, sun-burns and general drying. It was something unpleasant to find out – that as he grew up, Runi developed more Nautolan traits than he had as a baby and toddler. His fish-cravings are easy enough to satisfy, but his skin is very sensitive, especially to Coruscant’s polluted air. The rashes he developed were bad enough that Obi-Wan is taking no risk of seeing them develop again. Of course, the armour doesn’t help.

Naak is nearly a head taller than his brothers, even without counting his montrals. His skin has gone redder – it was slightly reddish when he was an infant, and is now a beautiful burgundy that would let him disappear on a desert world. The white of his montrals seems even whiter in comparison, his matching white markings more intricate as he grows. His limbs are longer, and he is generally leaner than his brothers, despite his fine appetite for meat. His first fangs fell when he reached the development of a three years old, and he is now on his second set, which are sturdier – no longer meant to simply eat pre-chewed meat, but to tear it from the prey itself. His adult teeth will come in later, once he reaches puberty, and he has thankfully learnt he shouldn’t bite just because he can. Obi-Wan has Shaak Ti to thank for that.

Smiling without flashing them, however, is still a work in progress – and as adorably cute as it is, Obi-Wan would like it if it stopped unsettling Anakin. His Padawan can’t help it, it is only a natural reaction to a hunter, and Naak means no harm. He himself has discovered after several late-nights of little sleep that he had that same instinct of showing teeth when upset. It has taken long, repeated meditations before he could accept that it was simply a biological reality he had to deal with. He is also grateful that Sathi simply laughed in his face when he snarled at them while trying to pin them to the ground during training, when his whole behaviour had, as they’d told it, “been a threat to tear out their throat with his teeth”. (Assri won’t let him live it down, and neither does Am.)

He’s incredibly proud of them, and still fascinated by how unique they are – in personality and within the Force – when they are _clones_. He has wondered many times if Jango Fett is Force-Sensitive himself; genetics play a role in that, after all, as studies have shown that Force-Sensitive parents tend to have Force-Sensitive children, but sometimes, the Force-Sensitivity comes out of nowhere.

He’s distracted from his thoughts by Master Windu’s arrival, Padawan in tow. They’re both wrapped in sleeveless training gear, lightsabres on their hilt. They leave their robes on a nearby bench, greet him with a nod, and get to their training. Obi-Wan notices how Tracyn smiles, and wonders briefly what caught his attention thus so, before he gets distracted by the shadow following Devhi’s every move. His eyebrows climb up his forehead when he notices her taping a fist to her chest – a greeting reserved to the _Mand’alor_ – out of Mace’s sight. She adjusts her grip and her stance, and her movements are much more fluid afterwards.

“ _Gar lise haa’tayli ni jate’shya solus tuur_”, one of the _ka’ra_ voices says, nearly making him jump.

Haat grins widely, falling out of formation to run up to them and sign in Mando’a.

“Hello Master Tarre!”

The presence seems to grow stronger and soon, a vague figure of gleaming _beskar’gam_ is standing right next to Obi-Wan. Haat runs up to it, trying to hug something intangible, and the figure laughs – the sound echoes, not only by the room, but seemingly by other voices. There’s a gasp, and Devhi nearly drops her sabre in her haste to come close.

“You can see him too!” she says.

Anakin looks like he has stopped breathing, and Obi-Wan ponders hitting him on the back, when he takes a deep breath.

“Force, and I’ve been thinking I was having hallucinations”, he says. “You all see him too, right?”

The presence fades a bit, before settling again, slightly more defined this time.

“Interacting with you like this takes a lot of focus and energy”, Tarre replies. “I’m afraid so far, only Jaster and I have managed to manifest into voices.”  
“What are you all doing?” Master Windu asks, seemingly very confused. “There is nothing here”, he adds, pointing to the space Tarre Vizsla stands in, that they are all watching intently.  
“You can’t see him?” Devhi blurts out.  
“He is not Mandalorian”, Tarre replies, “unlike all of you. Us of the _ka’ra_ have only managed to contact Force-sensitive Mandalorians.”

He sounds put out by that fact, and Obi-Wan wonders what he looks like under his helmet. His voice sounds disturbingly young.

“Do you have a message for us?” he finally manages to ask, and Tarre’s form nods.  
“Keep going. This is everything I ever hoped for, my two people united and strong.” His hand brushes against Devhi’s face, ruffles Haat’s short hair. “The Darkness is growing strong and we might not be able to pierce it and communicate with you any longer. Trust in each other. When the time comes…” He pauses, flickers.

Disappears completely.

_Ka’ra darasuum_, the Force seems to breathe around them. Haat sniffles, his eyes shining with tears, and he runs to Obi-Wan who catches him and hugs him.

“It’s alright, sweetheart”, he breathes, holding him tight.

Devhi catches her Master’s eye, who is waiting patiently even though he does look ready to murder someone, and goes up to him to explain what just transpired. Anakin looks shaken up, and probably is, given that he drops down and sits on the training mats to put his head between his knees. His brothers are quick to hug him, and Obi-Wan crouches however he can while holding a child.

“Anakin?”  
“I Saw him. He was in my dreams. Force, I Saw him so many times. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize him.”  
“Breathe, dear one. I doubt he expected you to recognize him. Besides, you told me yourself that your dreams were hardly clear.”

Anakin huffs. It upsets him, that even with all his power in the Force, his visions are still held to its whims. The visions he has of the future are disturbing and more often than not, excessively violent. The visions he has of the past are disjointed, but he learns from them – when he can remember them. Obi-Wan is pretty sure the _ka’ra_ are to blame for these visions, given how heavily Mandalorian most of them are.

“Let’s go meditate a bit, shall we?” Obi-Wan says, and his sons nod and follow him like loth-cats follow their mother.

Anakin grumbles, but follows after them too. Joint meditation is way easier than trying to do it by himself anyway.

Two days later, Obi-Wan leaves his sons in Master Fisto’s care, the Nautolan being finally back from a long mission and confined to the Temple until _all_ the scratches he got during it are healed. There is no questioning whether their evening will include “late-night” swimming in the warmest pools or not, but two Senior Nautolan padawans and Bant have agreed to help Fisto dealing with them.

Anakin and Obi-Wan have the evening to themselves and they go to the _Jatnese_. Iolar has left Bodhi in Master Ti’s care to join them, wearing his complete armour again – along with a large brown cloak. His armour is all gleaming beskar, stripped of its paint. He isn’t decided on colours and designs yet. While they dine, Dahl is busy running his establishment but Am joins them, and so does Oria – a crimson Zeltron of his clan, and one of Anakin’s friends.

Sathi joins them afterwards. They are withdrawn since their brother’s and nephew’s death – still dedicated to their work and Obi-Wan’s training, but grieving. They have painted their armour a striking black and gold, and there is something… something fragilized about their presence in the Force. Still, when they tap their fingers intently on the table, all present stop and listen.

“I have been talking with Dahl”, they start, looking at Anakin, “and seen your progress myself. You have learnt everything you needed to become a _Mando’ad_. At this same time next month, you will pass your _verd’goten_. Am will go with you, to guarantee your security through it and assess your level.” They turn their gaze to Obi-Wan. “Under Coruscanti law and by Jedi standards, you are his guardian, so I warn you thus: Anakin will leave the planet for a month standard. You will want to warn your Council.”

“I will” Obi-Wan replies, though he feels trepidation.

It is not the first time Anakin leaves the Temple and the planet without him, but all the previous times, he was with a Jedi Master for a mission. He doesn’t doubt Am at all, doesn’t doubt Anakin either, it’s just… Well. It’s one step closer to Knighthood and he’s disturbingly not ready to let go. The Master Yoda in his head bashes his shins for it, and Anakin sends him a weird gaze, meaning he probably got some of it over the bond.

If Anakin is nervous, he hides it well – but it shouldn’t be too hard, given that thirteen years old Mandalorians are supposed to accomplish it. Anakin knows all survival tips Obi-Wan could cram into his head, and some more from growing up on Tatooine. He knows how to use most weapons safely and is scarily proficient with throwing knives. It should be a walk in the park for him.

They are downing some _tihaar_ when Elath steps inside, finally back from wherever Death Watch convened to, _buy’ce_ on his head and something in his step that makes Obi-Wan wary. He takes a seat at the table and finally removes his helmet, his clear-blue eyes glacial, short-cropped white hair emphasizing how… _displeased_ he looks. He takes Obi-Wan’s chin between his fingers, tilts his face one way and then the other, and then lets go, apparently satisfied. Obi-Wan is left rubbing at his beard, wondering what the hell just happened. He’s even more confused when the older man discreetly signs “don’t shave”.

Then, a pit of ice falls in his stomach. There’s a reason a good part of his mission to Mandalore is heavily classified – for his own safety. That he was Satine’s protection detail isn’t a protected information. His undercover identity when he infiltrated Death Watch at that time is much more sensitive. He didn’t think anyone would remember Ben Naasade, that scraggly ex-New Mandalorian wishing to become a good _verd_. Or, well, maybe Pre Viszla would, but Pre Vizsla has turned over a new leaf to work within Satine’s government. He has nothing to gain outing him as a Jedi. Either way, Elath clearly knows, and has no intention to betray him. He nods in return, fingers clenching around his glass.

Really, Mandalore is out for his skin it seems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _verd'goten_ : lit. soldier-birth, the coming-of-age trial where a young Mandalorian proves he is worthy of the name and ready to be considered an adult.  
>  _vor'e, vod_ : thank you, brother.  
>  _Gar lise haa’tayli ni jate’shya solus tuur_ : You can see me better each day.  
>  _Ka’ra darasuum_ : The Stars are eternal.


	35. Cin Vhetin - Part 24: Korkie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Korkie decides that Coruscant sucks before even setting foot on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To avoid any confusion: I go with Obi-Wan being around eighteen (really, between 17 and 19) when he took the mission to Mandalore. Satine was the same age. Pre (yes, it will come up later) is two years older than him, so he was between 19 and 21 at the time.

Coruscant is a terrible place, Korkie decides as his transport ship enters atmosphere. Who the kriff would want to live on a planet that is one giant city? Who wants to live in layers on layers on layers of buildings? Mandalore is a deserted wasteland, sure, but at least it has some _nature_. He purses his lips at the thought and tightens his fingers over the strap of his bag. He only packed what was necessary once Aunt Satine had relaxed her attention, and taken the first ship to Coruscant. By Mandalorian law, she can’t do a thing, anyway. He’s an adult.

He doesn’t want to think about the mother who betrayed all the trust he placed in her. It doesn’t matter what she said, clearly, she didn’t want him. She would have adopted him officially, if she did. He curls deeper into his seat. Anger, resentment and pain all churn in his stomach. He who was always so sure of his place! Everything has fallen apart.

She’s not the only culprit, though. His deadbeat father is just as responsible. Kriff, he couldn’t even just say a thing? Did he have to ignore him for so long? Korkie would have been content with a single “I don’t want a kid, stay out of my life”. He can _understand_ , his father is a Jedi, surely having a child broke some vows. It tastes even more bitter to know he was replaced for five Mandalorian babies. Obi-Wan Kenobi is a kriffing hypocrite and Korkie only wants one thing: to put his face in his own shit. Kenobi is going to have to acknowledge his existence, because he is ready to raise hell.

Once he arrives in the spaceport, it’s worse. Coruscant _stinks_. Do the people who live here even realize it? He looks around: the few Wookies he sees have their noses covered, so they smell it too. Most humanoids don’t seem to care, though, but Aunt Satine always did say he has such a sensitive nose. He grits his teeth, and pushes the memory away to go through customs.

“Welcome to Coruscant, Mister Kryze”, the droid says, waving him on.

From there, he hails an air-taxi that takes him to Little Manda’yaim. He gulps past the knot in his throat at the sight of so many _beskar’game_. He’s only seen them in museums and old holo-vids, never in person. This looks like something straight out of the warning stories Aunt Satine told him as a child. His clearly New Mandalorian attire attracts attention, but he’s still young enough that he doesn’t get outright hostility. He guesses someone older would have a harder time.

“Are you lost?” someone finally asks him, and he tenses when he recognizes the Death Watch symbol.

Not that Aunt Satine taught him _that_ , but he learnt many things while searching for the truth. His own clothes clearly broadcast his being of House and Clan Kryze.

“Not really”, he replies cautiously. “I’m looking for Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

The woman in the armour cocks her head aside.

“You’re Kryze’s nephew”, she says. “Kenobi’s a friend, he’s in the cantina. C’mon, I’ll escort you.”

He notices how she only talks in Basic, even though everything around them is written in Mando’a, and all the conversations he can hear are in that language. He feels a spike of shame that he doesn’t even speak the language of his ancestors, then quickly pushes it away. He _is_ New Mandalorian, and Mando’a encouraged violence.

“Thank you”, he replies gratefully, and she snorts.

He doesn’t know what to make of that.

“Don’t trust too easily”, she says, shaking her head.

He pauses. He’s not fourteen yet, surely she wouldn’t harm him? Even if he’s legally an adult? Sighing, she guides him through the streets, attracting even more gazes now. The riot of colours all around reminds him of home, but it seems more… well, more aggressive. There is none of the delicate glass Sundari has. Everything is sturdy, made to stand against blaster-fire. Sundari is a city of peace, Little Manda’yaim is… Something he doesn’t know how to name. It is _wild_ , under a veneer of civilization.

“Kenobi!” the woman bellows, stepping into the cantina, whose name he can’t read.

His father is there, sitting at the counter. His sons are there too, it seems. One is sitting on the counter, the others are running between the patrons’ legs and playing catch between the tables. They’re in full armour of white plastoid painted with a dark sigil. Everyone turns to them, silence falling when they see him.

“Someone to see you”, the woman says, and he realizes she marched him through the cantina, to Kenobi.

Seeing him in person, it is obvious how alike they are. Korkie’s hair is the same blond as Satine’s, but his eyes are the same colour as Kenobi, and his nose has the same shape. He looks like a younger, blond version of the Jedi. Anger simmers in his belly.

He might have been raised as a pacifist, but Aunt Satine made sure he could defend himself. He knows how to throw a punch, and use a stun baton.

“You kriffing _hypocrite_ ”, he snarls, and throws his fist in Kenobi’s face.

The man nearly slumps from the hit, and a young man he hadn’t noticed immediately grabs his arms and restrains him. Right, Kenobi’s apprentice.

“Let me go”, he grits, struggling against him.  
“No fighting in _Jatnese_ , that’s the rule. For _everyone_ ”, the apprentice insists.  
“He deserves it!” he yells, trying to get in Kenobi’s face. “You’re just another deadbeat father!”

The silence that falls is heavy, and he yanks himself out of the little Jedi’s slackened grasp.

“I’m sorry what?” Kenobi asks, sounding confused.  
“You’re wrong”, one of the children say. “ _Buir_ is a very good dad!”  
“Don’t play innocent with me”, Korkie growls, and he’s pretty sure there’s a vein pulsing on his forehead. “Not a letter, nothing in thirteen karking _years!”_ He feels tears stinging his eyes and wrathfully wipes them. “Why didn’t you want me?” he asks, voice dropping to a whisper.  
_“What?”_ , Kenobi asks, sounding both incredibly tensed and confused. “I have no idea what you mean. I don’t even know who you are.” He looks him from head to toes. “Well, you’re a Kryze.” A moment of pause. “Are you Korkie? Satine’s nephew?”

Korkie gasps wretchedly, and wipes his face again, trembling. This is a disaster.

“Hold on, are you saying you’re Obi-Wan’s… son?” the apprentice asks.

Korkie nods.

“Hypocrite”, he says again, trying to get a semblance of dignity back.

Realization dawns on Obi-Wan. What started like an ordinary day has turned into a rollercoaster that leaves him nearly shaking. Slowly, he rises from his seat and walks to Korkie, gently taking the boy’s head between his hands. Force, but he does look like him. It’s like looking at a younger version of himself. His mouth is all Satine, though, and it’s like a kick to the gut.

He has a son. He has a son that Satine didn’t see fit to tell him about, a son she didn’t even recognize as hers, from those months of brief passion between bouts of fleeing death. His hands are trembling when he wipes Korkie’s tears to see him better. He’s just the right age too, she must have gotten pregnant right before he had to leave. They were careful, but accidents happen, and- He has a son. A beautiful son who thought he had rejected him.

His heart aches just thinking about it. He knows how it feels to not be good enough, to be rejected. He would never wilfully inflict that on anyone, his own son even less. And yet he can’t stop smiling even as tears blur his vision.

“Force, I see it”, he breathes. “My beautiful boy. How I wish I’d known.”

Korkie sniffs, finally seeming to catch on that he had no idea he had a son.

“You… You didn’t know?”  
“Not a single idea”, Obi-Wan swears, and smiles- this is as unexpected as getting his _Vod’ike_ , but it is just as good.

Something twists on Korkie’s face, and he suddenly finds himself with an armful of sobbing boy, and he hugs him tightly and runs his fingers through the blond strands of his hair. The Force seems to sing around him, and his sons are quick to hug his legs and Korkie’s. He catches a glimpse of Anakin laughing hysterically. He’s not so far from doing so himself, to be honest.

_“Ni kar’tayli gar sa’ad_ , Korkie”, he says, loud enough for the people around him to hear his vow.  
“What’s that mean?” Korkie sniffles, his face smooched against his chest-plate.  
“I know your name as my child”, he translates. “It means you are my son, by Mandalorian law.” He cups the back of his head. “It means I want you Korkie.” He laughs again. “My strong boy who didn’t hesitate to walk straight into the Mandalorian den to deck me. I couldn’t be prouder.”

People around them laugh, and he wants to celebrate. He also wants to tear Satine a new one for hiding Korkie’s existence from him, but he pushes that back into a corner of his mind and focuses on how full to burst his heart feels. He has a son, and he can already picture Mace’s expression when he’ll learn of it.

And to think he had to call Anakin out on his dalliances. Clearly, he could use some of his own advices. Anakin is apparently thinking the same thing, if the amused pokes he feels through their bond is telling anything. Korkie lets out a wet chuckle, looking at him, and Obi-Wan can’t stop touching him – his face, his hair, his shoulders. He’s real and he’s grown and- Well, Obi-Wan had nothing to do with that.

“Sit”, he says, “let me present the family”, he adds. “These are your brothers, Haat, Naak, Skira, Tracyn, Runi, and Anakin.”  
“Hello”, Korkie says with a wave, and the youngest children giggle and squeeze his legs and-

Obi-Wan feels the wave of pure love and delight washing over Korkie, who blinks dazedly for a few seconds.

“Wow. Was that… is that the Force?” he breathes.  
“Yes”, Anakin laughs, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “Welcome to the family, Korkie.”

He says the name differently, and Obi-Wan sees that Korkie notices it. Well, Anakin does have a strong, clear Concord Dawn accent now, from all the tutoring he went through. Obi-Wan’s own Sundari accent just rolls more naturally than the harsher tones most True Mandalorians and Death Watch use. Obi-Wan can clearly feel that Korkie is as Force-Sensitive as a rock – and not the kind of rock his Master gave him, but a standard rock. Looking at him, though, he sees the slightly green tinges to his skin that suggest his heritage, the way his canines flash a little pointier than they should. Yes, Korkie visibly inherited the Taung genes from Obi-Wan’s _dar’buir_ and he’ll have to tell him. Later. Satine couldn’t know about that, and even if she had, he doubts she would have told him anyway.

His son seems to be on the verge of falling apart, though, which isn’t that surprising considering the amount of feelings he just had. He wonders if the Council would allow him to stay in the Temple. The quarters are already a bit cramped with seven bodies sharing it, Korkie would have to settle down either with Anakin – that sounds like a bad idea, given Anakin’s terrible nightmares -, with him – which would quickly get stifling, both of them needed their privacy – or in the living-room, where he’d get woken up at dawn with the kids rampaging.

“First things first”, he finally says, “do you have a place to come down to for the night?”  
“I was going to book a hotel room for the night”, Korkie replies.  
“He can stay with us”, Devhi’s mother says. “The house has felt empty since Devhi left, and we’ve seen your place, you will get cramped if you house him. We have the room to accommodate a teen… if that’s alright with both of you, of course.”  
“Thank you for your kind offer”, Obi-Wan replies, inclining his head, and turns to his son. “Clan Mev is practically family, Devhi is a Padawan. I’d rather you stay with family, and sadly she is right: our quarters would get cramped with one more… You’re staying more than one night, I assume?” he tacks on worriedly – maybe   
Korkie will not want to stay, he’s clearly New Mandalorian and Obi-Wan is raising his family to live according to the _Resol’nare_.

“I- Y-Yes”, Korkie replies, and looks down dejectedly. “I don’t want to go home”, he confides.

Obi-Wan stills.

“Does Satine know you’re here?” he asks.

He can’t bring himself to say “your mother”. She didn’t adopt him, anyway. _He_ did. Korkie glares at him but flushes, embarrassed.

“She wouldn’t have let me come”, he replies. “I’m really mad at her.”

Obi-Wan sighs. He’s going to have to deal with this responsibly, isn’t he. He wonders if her comm-code is still the same. Probably. He never made use of it. Though, to be honest, he’s really mad too.

“She’s probably very worried”, he says sternly. “I would be too. I know you’re an adult, but you’re still young, so I expect you to warn before going anywhere. Coruscant is a dangerous place.”  
“I can defend myself”, Korkie replies mulishly and oh, is that what Qui-Gon suffered?  
“I don’t doubt it, but it is still a very dangerous place, especially this low. Is this her comm-code?” he asks, and Korkie nods.  
“You’re gonna call her?” he asks, looking around worriedly.  
“No, I’m sending a text message”, Obi-Wan replies. “This is not the place for such a call, and not the moment.”

He tries to write clearly and to the point, but he can’t help but think he infused it with some coldness. Well, she’ll have to contend. He is angry and happy and pain- a whole maelstrom of emotions that leave him unbalanced. He breathes, tries to clear his head.

“On the house”, Dahl says, pushing three drinks towards them – one to Anakin, one to Obi-Wan, and one to Korkie, though he holds it back for a second. “You can drink in Little Manda’yaim because you are thirteen, but remember that adulthood is at sixteen on Coruscant.”

Korkie nods, his eyes wide as he takes the glass. It’s some of Dahl’s best _tihaar_ , Obi-Wan can tell, and he smiles behind his own glass as Korkie’s eyes water just from the vapours.

“You’ve never drunk before, have you?” he says, holding back a laugh.  
“Aunt Satine was just starting to allow me a bit of wine at dinner”, Korkie grumbles.

Obi-Wan spots Iolar just as he comes into the cantina, and waves him over.

“Take a sip to get a taste”, Obi-Wan tells Korkie, “and then hand it over to him. That stuff is too strong for you.”

Korkie tentatively takes a sip, and slams the glass back down, coughing, to the cheers of the _Mando’ade_ around them. Iolar snatches the glass up with a grin, and bottoms up.

“I’m glad to see my vision came true”, he says. “How’s that, for some happy news?” he tells Obi-Wan, who lightly punches his arm.  
“You bastard! You knew and you didn’t say a thing?!”  
“I knew your son would soon be reunited with you, that’s all”, Iolar laughs, and looks Korkie over. “Ah, Clan Kryze”, he adds, sobering up. “You certainly like to make things complicated. Welcome to Little Manda’yaim, _ad’ika_.” He smiles a bit. “Go take a walk with your son, _vod_. I’ll watch over the little ones.”  
“ _Vor’e_ ”, Obi-Wan replies. “C’mon, Korkie. Let’s talk somewhere with less ears. I’m sure there are already plenty of rumours circulating.”

Korkie nods and follows, hesitating a second before plastering himself against Obi-Wan’s side, even though the _beskar’gam_ is cold and unforgiving. Obi-Wan drags his robes over Korkie’s shoulders, shielding him from most stares, and hugs him closer.

“There is so much I want to tell you, I don’t even know where to start”, Obi-Wan admits, “and I’m sure you have just as many questions.”  
“How did you meet Aunt-” he frowns. “My mother?” He looks up to him. “How should I even call you?”  
“Your brothers call me _buir_ ”, Obi-Wan replies. “It means ‘parent’. You can use it too, it you want. If it’s too much, you can call me Obi-Wan. I understand if you-”

He feels Korkie tremble, even despite the armour.

_“Buir”_ , he sounds, the word tumbling from his lips, and Obi-Wan feels his heart soar.  
“I met Satine fourteen years ago”, Obi-Wan starts, “when I was still a Padawan. I was on a mission with my master…”

He tells him about discovering Mandalore, falling in love with the culture, falling in love with Satine. He tells him how he almost stayed. In return, Korkie tells him of growing up in Sundari as a Kryze, of his friends back home. Of finding out Satine and him were his parents after the Senate debacle, and how angry it made him. When they return to the _Jatnese_ , night as fallen already. Iolar and Anakin took the _Vod’ike_ back to the Temple for dinner, leaving Obi-Wan to dine with his son.

Over dinner, not wanting to delay more, Obi-Wan tells him of Stewjon, of their ancestry, of the Taung blood in his veins. Korkie stares at his hands in wonder, but the truth seems to settle something within him.

“I always wondered”, he says. “My friends would cower when I smile with too much teeth and I’ve always loved playing hide and seek, or catch. And the smells. My nose is so sensitive to scents, I did think it was a genetic trait, but I hadn’t thought…”  
“You couldn’t have known”, Obi-Wan replies.

When they part, Obi-Wan presses their foreheads together, breathing in the same air, feeling at peace again. He entrusts his son to Devhi’s family, and makes his way back to the Temple. It feels like a dream still.

His comm is blinking with about a dozen missed calls. He doesn’t care.


	36. Cin Vhetin - Part 25: Burcyan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Obi-Wan has important discussions, and Korkie broadens his horizons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized when time came to post that this chapter was really long and many things happened. No wonder I felt like I was struggling with it. There's a part bracketed by **, it's a flashback.
> 
> *
> 
> CT-3381 / Skira, blind.  
> CT-3382 / Tracyn, deaf, blond, golden eyes.  
> CT-3383/ Runi, Nautolan.  
> CT-3384/ Naak, Togruta.  
> CT-3385/Haat, autistic.

Obi-Wan starts the day like usual, with meditation. His days have a pattern to them, necessary with young children, and he is glad for it. Only once his sons are working on katas with Master Yoda and his Padawan is performing his own in the training salle does he finally call Satine back. It’ll be late evening for her – still, she replies immediately. Her face is drawn with worry and she isn’t wearing make-up anymore. Her eyes are red from countless tears spilled.

“Obi-Wan”, she breathes. “You said- We’ve been searching for Korkie since yesterday morning, when he didn’t come down for breakfast. I was so worried, I feared the worst-” she takes a shaking breath. “Is he safe?”  
“He is”, Obi-Wan nods. “I’ll take good care of him, you don’t need to worry anymore.”  
“Can I- Can I talk to him?”  
“He is staying with _vod’aliit_ ”, Obi-Wan replies. “He’s not with me at the moment. Besides, he’s quite angry with you. And so am I.” He takes a deep breath. “However, I wanted to apologize, first on the behalf of my son for his undue violence, and then for losing my temper.”

Satine looks down. She’s still trembling slightly, visibly frazzled.

“Thank you”, she finally replies. “I’m sorry I hid his existence from you. I thought it was for the best.” She lowers her hands to hide their trembling. “You and Master Jinn were gone already when I realized I was pregnant. Long gone, even. I-” She pauses to breathe, not wanting to break down. “The doctor who told me called it a denial of pregnancy. I was already six months along then.”

Obi-Wan feels his fingers sinking into the couch’s cushions. It shouldn’t surprise him. It _doesn’t_ , not exactly. Given the stress Satine was under at the time, and how it really wasn’t the moment for a baby… Yes, he can see it happen.

“I wanted-” she chokes on a sob. “I wanted to call you and tell you, but it had already been so hard to let you go… You would have come back. I know you would have, and left being a Jedi behind. I didn’t want to have to bear that burden… I didn’t want our child to bear that burden. It wouldn’t have been fair to anyone.”  
“I can understand”, he finally whispers. “I don’t like it one bit, but you are right in every word you say, and I can understand that choice. That you would keep him from me. But Satine”, his voice breaks. “You didn’t even _adopt_ him. _Your_ son. Our son.” He shakes his head. “I understand why you didn’t say he was yours outright. It would have fragilized your power, and made him even more of a target. But have you lost so much of the _Resol’nare_ that you refused to be called his mother?”

She’s crying, and though he sheds no tears, his heart weeps with her.

“I was scared”, she finally whispers. “I was so scared, I didn’t know what to do… I couldn’t. I couldn’t be his mother.”

He lets some time pass.

“I’d rather you learn it from me than from anyone else: I’ve adopted him. Officially, with several witnesses.”

She stares back at him, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“You did well”, she finally manages to say. “He’s angry with me”, she whispers. “Don’t… Don’t let him do something he’d regret. Please, Obi-Wan. I’ve hurt him enough.”  
“I won’t let him”, he promises. “Satine, he’s my son too. _I won’t let him_.”

She nods, and wipes her cheeks. He should hang up. He should, but he can’t let it end there, like this. He loved her once. He may not love her still, but he cares about her – both as a friend, and as the mother of his child.

“Does his name have a specific origin?” he finally asks, and she chuckles wetly.  
“He was a very small baby”, she says. “So small, the doctor feared for him until he gained enough strength, even though he was completely developed. I attempted reverse psychology and told him if he remained small, I could more easily keep him hidden and safe. I shortened it to _k’orikih_. The doctor heard me, misunderstood and thought it was his name. Before I knew it, everyone who knew about him called him Korkie.”

Obi-Wan smiles. He knows Satine was a big baby – all Kryze’s babies tended to be – so the tininess must have come from his side. He’ll have to ask around to know if it is a Taung or Stewjoni characteristic.

“I’ll keep you updated”, he says, “but I won’t force him to talk to you until he is ready to do it himself.”  
“I know”, she replies, smiling tiredly. “As long as I know he is safe and well…”  
“ _Ret’_ , Sat’ika”, he says.  
“Goodbye, Obi-Wan.”

She disconnects the call and he puts the comm down. He takes a moment to meditate and centre himself, before he asks to speak to the Council. They have been patient with him, but by now, they know better than to rush him – or any crèche-master, for that matter. He steps into the Chamber confidently, but not smugly. He wouldn’t be the first Jedi to sire a child, and several Knights bore one, but there are protocols for such things. Force-sensitive children are given to the crèche, and the Jedi parent is under a restraining order. The ones who aren’t are raised with their civilian family, or entrusted to an orphanage when they can’t be kept. But he adopted his son, according to Mandalorian customs, and though the rules have relaxed and the restraining orders have been swept under the rug for some time already, he did not ask permission from the Council.

Anakin often says, better ask forgiveness than permission. It is slave thinking and Obi-Wan shouldn’t think like that, but there is wisdom amongst the Ammavikka and he would be stupid to discard it, simply because it is not Jedi. He wonders, sometimes, who influences who most, between him and Anakin.

“Knight Kenobi”, Master Windu greets him. “You have asked to speak to us.”  
“Indeed, Master”, Obi-Wan replies, hands in his sleeves, wrapped around his vambraces. “A… surprising, but good, news came to me yesterday.” He pauses, wondering for a moment how he is going to word his declaration. “It appears I have a son.”  
“Sons you already have”, Yoda replies. “Five of them, even.”  
“I am talking about a sixth child”, Obi-Wan replies.

Master Windu tenses.

“Fett sent you another child?”  
“No, he didn’t”, Obi-Wan replies, containing his laughter at the idea. “My son came to me, as he is already adult by Mandalorian law.” He takes a breath. This is… embarrassing. “It appears I unwittingly sired a child with the Duchess of Mandalore, while she was under my and Master Jinn’s protection. She kept such a thing secret until recently, and our son came to find me.”

Master Yoda starts chuckling – purely nervously.

“Sorry, I am. A political mess, this is. Have children with all Mandalorian leaders, will you? Like children, I do, but complicate things, you do.”

Obi-Wan squares his shoulders.

“Duchess Kryze only recognized him as her nephew. I adopted him as my son, according to Mandalorian custom. I have already talked with the Duchess, who was extremely worried about his whereabouts.”

There is a long silence.

“Well”, Master Kolar says, “it’s not like you can just go back on your word. It would be unjust, for this son to not be recognized when we already allowed you the _Vod’ike_. Is he Force-sensitive?”

“Karking Korkie Kryze”, Mace finally blurts out. “That’s why he looked so familiar on those holos, he’s your spitting image!”

Obi-Wan smiles.

“Indeed, he does look like me a lot.” He turns to Master Kolar. “No, he isn’t. It appears he inherited another part of my… unusual genetics.”

Mace nods, but the rest of the Council frowns.

“What do you mean?”

Obi-Wan breathes in. He had been warned that they would likely forget, but to see it so plainly is definitely strange.

“I’m talking about my Taung parentage”, he says, and he sees how the story clicks back into place – if only for a time.

They’ll have forgotten the moment he exits the Council Chamber, likely. Master Yoda taps his gimmer stick down.

“Very strong, this Sith veil is, if of us twelve, only one remembered.”  
“The legend says that several strong acolytes and apprentices helped the Lord who set it up”, Obi-Wan replies. “And she is, to this day, the only outsider to have been given the honour of a _kote kyr’am_ , a Mandalorian Death ceremony, for a fallen sibling.” He pauses. “The clans were impressed by her fearlessness and skill, as she singlehandedly defeated twenty Jedi to rescue a Mandalorian clan, and Mandalorian legends remember her with great respect. Yes, Darth Raze was already a strong Sith Lord, and she was not alone in making this veil.”  
“Well”, Master Mundi says. “That would explain it. Perhaps she should be researched in the Archives. Information could be needed, should this veil ever be disposed of.”  
“If there is anything on her”, Obi-Wan replies, “it isn’t within the reach of a Knight. I’ve taken the liberty of researching her, and found nothing more than the mention of her name in a list of non-Banites Sith.”  
“I will look into it”, Master Windu says. “For the time being, the main concern was your son. You say he has inherited Taung characteristics?”

Obi-Wan nods.

“I don’t know yet to what extent, but he has agreed to a full medical scan with Reve Bralor, and Sathi Nott will interpret the results for him. The perspective of Taung blood worries him.”  
“Given what you said of it, it is not surprising”, Master Piell says. “Especially for a New Mandalorian boy.”

Obi-Wan winces slightly. Master Rancisis looks around.

“Is that all you have to say?” he finally blurts out, looking not at Obi-Wan, but at the Council, and Obi-Wan squares up to fight for his son. “Force’s sake, give the boy access to the Temple so he can visit his family! He may not be Force-sensitive, but his father lives here and he should have unrestrained access to him.”

Given the ripple of shock, no one was expecting this outburst, and they all nod.

“Yes, of course”, Master Windu says with a nod. “He will be added to the Temple’s list.”  
“Thank you for your consideration”, Obi-Wan says, bowing.

The permission is welcome, as it means he doesn’t have to go down to Little Manda’yaim if he wants to see Korkie at lunch. The matter of his training will quickly come up, and while Obi-Wan won’t let him betray his New Mandalorian education in a fit of temper, educating him on the _Resol’nare_ is a necessity if he is to remain on Coruscant for some time.

Korkie arrives a little before lunch and is quickly swarmed by the _vod’ike_ , his eyes going wide at their identical faces. Obi-Wan brings a finger to his lips and Korkie nods, looking around with wide eyes.

“I never imagined the Temple looked like this”, he says, and then turns to Obi-Wan. “Did you say something to au- to my mother?” he adds. “She has stopped calling me every five minutes and left me a message to call her once I was ready to talk.”  
“We had a discussion, yes”, Obi-Wan replies. “She was extremely worried for you, and we had dirty laundry to air.”

Korkie nods and wraps his arms around himself.

“She loves you”, Obi-Wan says, pulling him close. “Don’t doubt that. She loves you.”  
“I- I thought I knew. She always cared for me, she raised me, and yet-”  
“You are angry because she lied to you for so long”, Obi-Wan guesses.  
“How can I trust her when she lied to my face all these years?” Korkie says.

Obi-Wan takes a moment to think.

“Take your time”, he says. “Don’t make any important decision when you are still so emotional about it.”

Korkie breathes in, and nods.

“Will you tell me about my brothers?” he finally says. “They look so similar…”  
“You must promise that you won’t say a word about it outside of the Temple”, Obi-Wan says. “Only Sathi knows, and has promised the same.”  
“Do you know many rumours there are that you’re going to pick up the Old Ways? That once you get your helmet on, it’s never coming back off for those who aren’t family?”  
“I know”, Obi-Wan says. “Let them talk. _Mando’ade_ love to gossip, you’ll discover, and the talk is more important than the truth. It says a lot about someone, what they choose to believe.”

Lunch is a loud, joyous occasion, Jedi stopping by to ask about the young Kenobi copy-cat, only to smile brightly when they learn who he is. Korkie is flustered by the attention, and by the warmth of the Jedi.

“I always heard the Jedi were cold and aloof”, he says later, while the _vod’ike_ are changing their clothes for the hand-to-hand training Obi-Wan and Anakin give them.  
“Many missions ask of us to be dignified and impartial”, Obi-Wan replies. “And, you’ll find that people see what they want to see.”  
“What do you teach them?” Korkie asks when the _vod’ike_ come out. “Is it a Mandalorian custom or a Jedi one?”  
“Jedi are far less trained in hand-to-hand than Mandalorians”, Obi-Wan replies. “But from the age of five, both cultures teach self-defence to their young. Look”, he says.

After warming up, Anakin grabs Tracyn as though he wanted to kidnap him, and the boy is quick to jab and pinch. Strength will do nothing at that age, but he has other means of defence, amongst which figures the Force.

“I took self-defence classes too”, Korkie says. “Mother thought the danger was great enough I should know that much.”  
“She does have a knack for self-defence”, Obi-Wan chuckles. “But their training is already different from yours: they are already taught to defend others with their ‘sabres. A Jedi is a peacekeeper, and it brings us to defend those who cannot defend themselves. Using lethal force if needed. All our training is made to give us a maximum of possibilities of resolving conflicts peacefully, and if that’s not possible, then non-lethally. But you can only make the choice not to kill an adversary intent on killing you if you are stronger, more skilled than they are.” He looks away. “Sometimes, it is not possible, and for a Jedi, the choice isn’t only between your life and theirs, but the life of those you defend and theirs.”

There is a silence as Korkie ponders his words.

“Do you mind showing me what you learnt?” Obi-Wan finally says.

Korkie shakes his head and divests himself of the embroidered clothes he wears, until he’s only wearing a pair of trousers. Anakin smiles and beacons him forward, their little brothers giving them space. The Padawan makes one grab, holding Korkie in a choke-hold, and despite his trying, Korkie cannot shake him off.

“It’s cheating if you use your Jedi powers”, Korkie says, his face red.

Anakin stares back at him.

“I wasn’t”, he says. “Korkie, I don’t need the Force to subdue you.”

That makes the teenager gape, and throw himself into showing everything he learnt. Obi-Wan frowns deeply. He is well-trained, but it seems something hinders him. He cannot, however, pinpoint what it is. What is certain is that his skill will not hold against a trained Mandalorian. And Korkie, given his expression, has realized that his training is subpar, especially when the ones most likely to kidnap him are trained Mandalorians.

“I- I need better training”, he finally says, gulping.  
“Yes, you do”, Obi-Wan replies. “I could train you, or one of the _Mando’ade_ could, if you’d rather. There are even classes for advanced-learners outside of both spheres, if you’d rather do that, but you need better self-defence training.”

Korkie considers the matter carefully. His father could teach him, but a part of Korkie worries he wouldn’t go hard enough. A part of him worries, too, that violence might be all he learns from Obi-Wan. They don’t know each other. It’s a bitter fact, but a fact nonetheless, and no amount of warm greetings will make up for the time lost. The _Mando’ade_ , he dismisses immediately. They would either hurt him on purpose while training, or try to convert him to their ways. He is not angry enough to stoop to violence – though the memory of the punch he gave his father make him blush in shame.

“Thank you for the offer”, he says. “I’ll look into getting lessons.”

If Obi-Wan is hurt, he doesn’t let it show. Instead, he nods and looks back at his youngest children.

“Alright, reverse exercise, _vod’ike_. You have been charged with kidnapping Anakin and bringing him unharmed to a place I will tell you, before tonight. Anakin, of course, is forbidden from leaving the Temple before that.”

They perk up, and start to confer in the Force, and Anakin glares at Obi-Wan.

“But it’s unfair on them!” Korkie finally splutters out. “Anakin is grown and trained; they couldn’t possibly take him down!”

Anakin makes a face at that, and Obi-Wan chuckles.

“You severely underestimate their training”, he says. “While I have no doubt Anakin would prevail if allowed to use his abilities fully, it is difficult to escape someone you don’t want to harm.”

Anakin is made to leave the training salle while Obi-Wan gives his instructions to his sons, who giggle delightedly and start planning in a dizzying fashion. Korkie looks at his father from the corner of his eye: Obi-Wan seems to be following the conversation quite easily. Korkie understands perhaps one-fifth of it, what little is spoken in Basic. The rest seems to be a mix of Mando’a, at least two different sign languages, and a casual use of the Force as a communication device.

“It takes some time to get used to it”, Obi-Wan says in a low voice. “The way they communicate among themselves is unique; so far, only Anakin and I have been able to understand them successfully.”  
“Master Kenobi!” a voice interrupts them. “I heard a strange rumour when I came back from the Sena- Oh, it was true.”

Obi-Wan watches as Devhi arrives, still wearing her full _beskar’gam_ from a day spent in the Senate with her Master, her Jedi cloak draped over her shoulders like a cape. She comes to a stop upon seeing Korkie, openly gaping at him – Korkie turns bright red tinged with green.

“Devhi, this is my son, Korkie”, Obi-Wan says, tactfully leaving out a clan name.

He wonders if it really sank into Korkie’s mind that he is now lawfully a Kenobi.

“Korkie, this is Devhi, clan Mev. Her parents are the ones who have welcomed you. She is Master Windu’s Padawan.”  
_“Ner ijaat”_ , Devhi replies, offering her hand in greetings.

Korkie looks ready to panic, and Obi-Wan steps in.

“Korkie is New Mandalorian”, he explains.

She lowers her hand slowly, blinking.

“You… You don’t speak Mando’a?” she asks.

It is not the first time that Korkie feels shamed he never learned. He knows what Satine taught him: language convey ideas, ideals. Mando’a honours violence, in its everything. Still…

“You could teach me”, replies brazenly, and the Padawan looks startled for a second.

Obi-Wan starts laughing.

“I think Devhi is quite occupied already with her studies, but we can arrange for another professor.”

Korkie nods distantly. You don’t hear Mando’a in Sundari – at least, not out in the open. Some still spoke it at home. It isn’t outlawed, just… no longer recognized an official language. It is uncivilized to use Mando’a in public, and he still remembers… He blinks at the memory. He never paid attention to it, but seeing Devhi’s reaction, being surrounded by those who follow the _Resol’nare_ , it makes him wonder.

“It was a pleasure”, Devhi says awkwardly before disappearing as quickly as she can.

**_Buir_ is the most important word**, the voice in his memory says. **If you can only remember one word, it should be _buir. Bu_ \- is the link. _Bu_ is cradle, protection, training, teaching. - _ir_ is both action, and a state of being. You act like a parent, by following _bu_. And if you do so, then you become the name. You are _buir_.**

He shivers. Yes, Aunt Satine was right. There is much more to a language than just words.

**

Korkie slunk out of Aunt Satine’s office. She was asleep on her desk; she was very, very tired. He didn’t want to wake her up, but he was a bit hungry. The corridors of the palace were huge around him, but he could hide in the shadows and play hide and seek with the guards. He was very, very good at that. There was a door down the corridor, slightly ajar. Light came from it. Korkie sneaked closer and peeked inside: there was the blond man Aunt Satine often spoke to these days. He was humming under his breath, and Korkie listened, fascinated. He couldn’t understand the words, but he liked how they fell from his lips.

The blond man paused to count something, but he didn’t count like Korkie had been taught. Korkie pushed the door open and stepped inside, clinging to his tooka plushie. The blond man looked up, startled.

“Korkie! What are you doing here? Satine must be looking for you.”  
“Aunt Satine is sleeping on her desk again”, Korkie replied. “I was hungry.”

He cocked his head aside, and went up to the man, struggling to climb in his lap until he picked him up and set him there. He has a strange scent – almost like home. It is a scent that means safety, and Korkie likes it.

“You were counting pretty”, Korkie finally said. “Not like I learnt.”

The blond man smiled.

“It is Mando’a. You’re right, it does sound pretty.”  
“Mando’a”, Korkie sounded. “Can I speak it too?”  
“Your aunt wouldn’t approve”, the man replied, but he had that same expression the cooks did when they gave him a treat. “But… _Buir_ is the most important word. It means ‘parent’. If you can only remember one word, it should be _buir_. _Bu_ \- is the link. _Bu_ is cradle, protection, training, teaching. - _ir_ is both action, and a state of being. You act like a parent, by following _bu_. And if you do so, then you become the name. You are _buir_.”  
_“Buir”_ , Korkie said, loving how it rolled on his tongue.

There was the sound of hastened steps in the hallway, and the door nearly slammed open.

“Pre, have you seen- Oh, he’s here”, Aunt Satine said, looking relieved. “Thank you for looking after him.”  
“It was no problem”, Pre replied, standing up and handing Korkie back to her. “He’s a good kid.”

Korkie smiled when Pre winked to him, nibbling on his tooka plush’s ear. _Buir_ , he repeated in his mind again.

He liked how the word sounded.

**

Korkie wonders how many times he offended his hosts and didn’t even realize it. They have been kind, speaking Basic so he understands them, and making sure he feels at ease amongst them. It is nothing like the blood-thirsty warriors Aunt Satine depicted – he even thinks they tone down the amount of spice in the food for his sake.

“- so we have been summoned to the Temple in the morning”, Korkie’s namesake says, gesturing at his parents, his spouse smiling beside him.  
“It’s wonderful news”, Devhi’s mother says, looking at her son. “I trust your nursery is ready?”  
“You are… adopting a baby?” Korkie finally asks, trying to make sense of everything he heard.

They’re both very young still, he must be mistaken.

“Yes”, Korkie Mev replies, turning his bright smile on him. “We’ve been thinking about it for a while. Sure, it’s less instinctual than we traditionally do, but with the new adoption program, it makes it a lot easier.”

He must see the confusion on Korkie’s face, as he starts to explain something the others obviously know.

“People keep abandoning their babies and toddlers to the Jedi Temple, so we have reached an agreement: the children who are not Force-Sensitive will be given to us, the _Mando’ade_ , instead of an orphanage. The _ka’ra_ guides our hand to the child who will thrive most with us, it always has. Maybe we’ll find out own _ad_ tomorrow, maybe we’ll need to wait more, but so far, no child has been left behind.”

Korkie remembers the orphanages in Sundari, remembers having thought he would have been there, too, had it not been for Aunt Satine. They were nice places, his mother made sure of that… But still quite impersonal. There were too many children in there, and too many children-less families in Sundari. He wonders why that piece of their culture went out of fashion, when they needed it the most. Adoption is a long, complicated and difficult process in Republic worlds, from what he studied, unless there is a family link. It seems Mandalore adopted the same system – but some laws weren’t changed, like adulthood being thirteen, or, it seems, adoption. Here though, the Mev are about to adopt a child they have never seen before.

He remembers how _buir_ is the most important word, and how it has nothing to do with blood. Language is key to a culture – he’s starting to understand what his mother means. There is a power to words he never suspected before, and he doesn’t really know what to make of it.

_I am New Mandalorian_ , he thinks, and the words have power. _Ni Mando’ad_ , he thinks, and… it rings false. He feels like a stranger to a culture that should be his own. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He doesn’t want violence, nor the war-glorification the Mandalorians of old seemed to be fond of – but what is wrong with the way the spice burns his mouth and lights his taste buds like a light show? What is wrong with adopting a child? He would ask his mother, if he wasn’t so angry with her.

_Buir is the most important word_ , Pre says in his memory again. He doesn’t see him as often as he did when he was a child, but Pre is a governor – it doesn’t surprise him. _Buir is the most important word_ , he repeats again, and the memory of Pre’s scent comes back too. He doesn’t quite know what it smells like, but he remembers it helped him fall asleep as a small child. It is the same scent his father has, he finally realizes, nearly startling. The scent of home, and of safety. _Bu- is cradle, protection, teaching. Bu_ -, Korkie is pretty sure, is how that scent should be named.

Pre could probably answer him, the way no one here apparently can. Korkie is also pretty sure he can get his comm-code without too much trouble. Having a new resolution, he listens to the explanations given, to the way _Mando’ade_ and Jedi have been mending past hurts.

It is the middle of the night when he has finally managed to obtain Governor Vizsla’s personal comm, but it’ll be midday on Mandalore. He makes sure to keep his voice down, so he won’t indispose anyone, when the Governor answers his call.

“Korkie”, he says, with genuine surprise. “I’m glad to see you safe, word reached me that you had disappeared. Your Aunt must be very worried.”

Korkie wonders if his father over-sell him how quickly rumours travelled through _Mando’ade_ – but then, Pre is New Mandalorian. They don’t have that same tendency to gossip – it is the best way to create problems, after all, if you spread unchecked information.

“She knows where I am”, Korkie answers. “My father called her to make sure she knew where I was.”  
“Your father?” Pre says, frowning, and then the frown disappears. “I heard… I thought those were ill-intentioned rumours being spread”, he finally says. “If it is indeed true that you are the Duchess’ son… I cannot imagine how angry you must be.” His face goes smooth, to something friendly. “You found your father?”  
“He’s a Jedi”, Korkie blurts out. “But… Yes, I found him. He… He adopted me, made sure everyone knew I was his son.”

Pre’s lips quirk into a smile.

“Kenobi”, he says. “He’s been rocking the boat for a while now. I hadn’t paid attention, but now I see it. You do look a lot like him.”  
“There’s something… You’ll probably find it weird”, Korkie grimaces. “I- What do you know about Stewjon?”

Pre’s smile disappears, to some alarming blankness.

“Who told you about Stewjon?” he finally asks, his voice almost a growl, and something prickles at the back of Korkie’s neck.  
“So you know”, Korkie breathes, grateful. It’ll make things easier. “My father did. He was born there. He told me”, he laughs, because it still sounds incredible, “he told me that his father, my grandfather, was a Taung. And that I inherited those genes.” He pauses briefly. “The sense of smell, especially. And I remembered… your scent. You have almost the same scent as my father.”

Something twists in Pre’s expression, and Korkie lets him gather his thoughts. He watches as he rakes fingers through his hair, looking thoughtful.

“I should have known”, he hears him whisper, and then sigh. “My mother was a Stewjoni warrior”, he finally says. “One of their greatest. She competed often with another strong Stewjoni woman, for the honour of marrying the Stewjoni _Mand’alor_. They chose her rival, and finding no mate to her taste, she left Stewjon to find glory in what she thought would be the Mandalorian Empire. I’m sure you can imagine her horror and disappointment when she arrived here. She married my father, who claimed the title of _Mand’alor_ at the time. I have Taung blood too, Korkie, though it is farther than it is for your father. It must be what you smelled.”  
“Is she… not here anymore?” Korkie asks carefully.

Pre’s father died a few years prior, in a gruesome fashion – revenge from Jango Fett, for Galidraan. Korkie knows the bare bones of that – he didn’t pry – but he hadn’t thought Tor Vizsla was married. Pre certainly never spoke of her.

“She died when I was fifteen”, Pre says. “She wanted the glory of killing a Jedi.” He spreads his hands. “The Jedi defended himself, and she died as a result.”  
“Violence begets violence”, Korkie whispers, a proverb all New Mandalorians know.  
“She had lost her way”, Pre declares. “Her death was senseless and served no one.” There is a pause. “But she was my mother”, he adds.  
“ _Buir_ is the most important word”, Korkie replies, and Pre’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise.  
“You remember that? You couldn’t have been more than three…”  
“You speak Mando’a”, Korkie says.  
“It is my native language”, Pre replies. “I spoke nothing but Mando’a until I was six. I left many things behind when I joined the New Mandalorians and entered your mother’s service, as Governor of Concordia, and she knows what I sacrificed for that. Mando’a is something she vowed to never take from me.”

Korkie chews on his lips.

“You must be very busy, but… Would you teach me?”

Pre smiles.

“It would be my pleasure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Burcyan_ : friendship, comradeship, close bond.  
>  _vod’aliit_ : lit. sibling-family. Is used to talk about a different clan of allies, with a really close bond of friendship. (I made this one up.)  
>  _k’orikih_ : K’ = obligation // Orikih = tiny// « Stay / remain tiny »  
>  _ner ijaat_ : pleasure to meet you (lit: My honour).
> 
> Darth Raze is a canon character - her name and story will come up if you look up kote kyr'am on Wookiepedia. There isn't much about her but I felt she was a good fit for this story.  
> The _vod'ike_ did manage to complete their mission and not only kidnap Anakin, but deliver him to Master Yoda's quarters, to Master Yoda's dismay.  
> And, it bears no real importance, but the Jedi Pre's mother attacked and who killed her was Dooku.


	37. Cin Vhetin - Part 26: Verd'goten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin and Obi-Wan take a step farther, by completing their Cin Vhetin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit early bc I don't feel like writing rn and I can then write tomorrow.  
> Also, once again, my inner Han going "that is not how the Force works". I know Han, I know. Lemme have fun.
> 
> There is a lot happening in this chapter. Also, this chapter is officially the last of the Cin Vhetin Arc.
> 
> Note: there are traditional words repeated two times, I've only linked the translation once.

The month Sathi gave before Anakin’s _verd’goten_ arrives quicker than planned, especially after Korkie arrived. He is curious about the initiation, and has grown comfortable in the two weeks he spent in Little Manda’yaim. The fact that no one picks on him, even though he is clearly claiming the New Mandalorians, certainly help. His Mando’a went from non-existent to reasonable, ever since he made his wish to learn it known. Someone else – Obi-Wan doesn’t know who – gives him the lessons needed in grammar, but otherwise, it is simply that the Mandalorians around him have stopped using Basic altogether to help him integrate faster.

Either way, the day is here and the small family has gathered to see Anakin off. He is clearly nervous, but Am feels confident, and Obi-Wan has no doubt he will succeed. Devhi, when he asked, laughed and said unless Anakin was suddenly particularly clumsy, he would manage it fine. Still, it will be a month without communications between them, their bond in the Force mostly closed off to only leave the barest impressions of health.

In the month it takes for Anakin to accomplish his _verd’goten_ – Obi-Wan really wonders where Am took him – Korkie shoots up like a weed, leaving him awkward and unbalanced with too long legs on a rake-thin frame. He is not the only one – the _Vod’ike_ keep on growing too, in height and in skill, talking animatedly about their own _verd’goten_ and the approaching day where they’ll be able to start traditional weapons training. So far, Obi-Wan focused on a more Jedi approach, making sure they had a good grasp on hand to hand, and on Shii-Cho.

Obi-Wan’s comm blips in the middle of the day, while his sons are in class with the other Initiates their age, bulldozing their way through the modules at impressive speed, and he is helping Korkie with his diplomacy lessons. The message is a relay from the Temple’s hangar, where ships are parked: Anakin’s code has just been used to request access for a Mandalorian ship. Korkie smiles at his expression.

“It is Anakin, isn’t it?”  
“Yes”, Obi-Wan replies.  
“I’m coming”, Korkie says, putting his datapad down and brushing the creases from his clothes.

Obi-Wan smiles in answer, and they make their way there. Korkie is familiar with some areas of the Temple, but would still easily get lost were it not for his exceptional sense of smell, and the fact that he can track his father down easily thank to it. He is very smug of that fact, and Obi-Wan can’t bear to disappoint him by telling him Jedi Knights are trained to mask their presence to _all_ senses, and that he can only find him because they are within the Temple. It amuses Naak exceptionally, the only other one with a hunter’s instinct.

The ship that lands is a lot more dinged up than the one that took flight a month ago, and Obi-Wan sighs. He should have expected it, Anakin has a knack for finding trouble a mile wide. The ramp lowers and his Padawan comes out, braid pinned to his skull to be more discreet. He is wearing his full armour, like he was when he left, but Obi-Wan can immediately see that two of his throwing knives are missing. Anakin wouldn’t simply _lose_ them – they were a present from Elath for his Life-day, perfectly balanced and sharpened, and Anakin cares for those a lot. There are fading scratches on his face, and a wound covered in bacta across his cheek – it will leave nothing but a thin, faint scar, but the initial wound must have been worrying.

Am comes out on crutches, armour off except for his vambraces, his left leg in a cast and bacta heavily smeared on the left side of his neck and jaw – a nasty burn, that will certainly leave a scar. Korkie’s shock at seeing them rings in the Force, and they hasten to help Am come down. Obi-Wan sees, from the corner of his eye, one of the Temple guards call for Healers to come and evaluate them.

“Your _ad_ ”, Am starts, and Obi-Wan winces because he never calls Anakin by anything other than his name, unless he is mad. “Is a kriffing mad bastard who will get himself killed one of these days.” A tight smile graces his face. “But he’s a good kid, with a good heart, and you can be proud of him.”  
“Since you’re both still alive, I’m assuming he passed?” Obi-Wan says, helping him sit down on a crate.  
“With flying colours”, Am replies.  
“What happened?” Korkie asks.  
“Slavers”, Anakin replies, and Obi-Wan winces.

Of all the things to happen, it had to be slavers.

“He passed his _verd’goten_ alright”, Am says, “while we were on Dagobah. Kept himself alive a whole ten-days on a hostile planet- I have to say, Sathi went hard on you on that one.”  
“We were boarded by slavers working with the Hutts on our way back”, Anakin replies.

Am gives him a toothy grin, too sharp and dangerous to make Obi-Wan comfortable. The slavers probably met a rather unfortunate end, but- Slavers aren’t the kind of deaths he is especially sad about.

“Let’s just say Ani’ika had a mad plan to get us out, and that it involved freed slaves and a rebellion”, Am adds. “Three hundreds freed in four days, I’d say it’s a good deal for an impromptu undercover mission.”  
“Impromptu-”

Obi-Wan breaks off swearing in every language he knows. This wasn’t even supposed to be a _mission_ and Anakin wasn’t accompanied by a Jedi Master, and yet they pulled out a trick usually reserved for Shadows in training.

“We might have blown up a ship or two”, Anakin adds sheepishly, and Am ruffles his hair.  
_“You”_ , he says to Anakin, “will go and sit your _shebs_ down with a Mind-Healer. “And you will see a Healer or a _baar’ur_ as soon as possible”, he tells Am.

Two hours later, Obi-Wan has the whole story and is reluctantly impressed by the genius improvisation that saved both their lives, and that of several hundred other people currently _en route_ for the closest Mandalorian Diaspora settling. He is definitely less impressed by Anakin’s four cracked ribs, the ugly bruises on his shins and red welts on his back. It churns his stomach to know Am is probably worse off, having done his best to protect the young one under his guard – he would have done so even if Anakin hadn’t been under his supervision. He can’t know, though. Medical secret is a thing and only Dahl, as Am’s spouse, will be allowed access to it. As it is, the Healers have him sedated while they treat him, but they are willing to release him to a Mandalorian medic’s care, which bodes well. Anakin carefully edits the story out when telling his brothers, who all hug him with a lot of caution, mindful of his injuries. It is a minor miracle they made it out, and even more with no debilitating injury.

Two weeks later, once both have recovered from their ordeal, the _Mando’ade_ of Little Manda’yaim gather – not in the _Jatnese_ , it wouldn’t be large enough, but on the district’s central square. Iolar is there too, with Bodhi in _birikad_ , and Devhi, smiling up to her ears and especially delighted to see her young niece. A large wooden crate has been set on the ground, Sathi keeping a foot on it. Even with their armour on, Obi-Wan can feel how wary they are – with good reason.

Tonight, Anakin and him will swear to the _Resol’nare_. Tonight, they will both receive their helmets, the final piece of their _beskar’game_. Former True Mandalorians, Old Clans, and even Death Watch have come to witness it – the end of a _Cin Vhetin_. Obi-Wan is quite sure there are some Stewjoni in the crowd. He becomes certain of it when he recognizes the armour of the man who identified him as _Ori’n’ijaat_. It is easy to surmise they plan trouble, though he dares to hope they won’t desecrate such a tradition.

They have polished their armours for the occasion. Obi-Wan’s shines a dark green edged in blue, the Jedi Order insignia on his pauldron painted in erin – green, for duty; blue, for reliability, and light green for lust for peace. Anakin offers a striking contrast, with his black armour edged in scarlet, symbols Obi-Wan saw in the mines of Bandomeer painted orange over his heart. The Order’s symbol is the same scarlet, which makes Obi-Wan smile. Black, for the justice he craves so much, and dwells sometimes hastily. Scarlet, for defiance – Obi-Wan isn’t sure at whom yet. And orange, lust for life.

Around the place, drums start to beat, a heady, bone-rattling sound that seems to echo into the Force. A hush falls over the assembled crowd and the steady beat amps up, and Obi-Wan feels like his heart is trying to match it. It stops suddenly, and Sathi steps forward.

“Anakin, _gai Skywalker, be’Jetiise. K’olar_.”

Taking a deep breath, Anakin steps forward and walks up to Sathi. Slowly, he takes a knee, looking up into their _buy’ce_.

“You have completed your training, and learnt our ways. You passed the _verd’goten_ , and proved everyone you are worthy of wearing _beskar’gam.Tion’gar dinui gar ori’haat, bah ka’ra bal Mando’ade?”_  
_“Elek, Sathi, aliit Nott. Ni dinui ner ori’haat – haat, ijaat, haa’it. Ni tayli haar Resol’nare. Ba'jur bal beskar'gam, Ara'nov, aliit, Mando'a bal Mand'alor — An vencuyan mhi.”_

Sathi opens the crate and pulls the _buy’ce_ matching his _beskar’gam_ from it, and fits it over his head. It is not true _beskar_ , unlike his vambraces – not only is beskar rare and expensive, but it also muffles the Force. Mandalorian armourers, however, have more than one secret alloy.

_“Ke’moti, Anakin, be’Mando’ad, be’Jetiise. Vercopa gar kemi sa’ti ka’ra.”_

The drums sound again and Anakin retreats back to the edges of the crowd, and the drums stop again.

“Obi-Wan, _gai Kenobi, be’Jetiise. K’olar._ ”

Obi-Wan walks up to them and takes a knee too, his heart beating hard and fast – the Force coiling around them. It is not the first time he feels the Force reacting to a ritual, he witnessed many as a Padawan, but it is the first time he is directly involved. More than that, he hadn’t expected such a thing when he first started to train as a _Mando’ad_.

“You have completed your training, and learnt our ways. You are _cin vhetin_ , born once more as a _Mando’ad_ , and proved everyone you are worthy of wearing _beskar’gam. Tion’gar dinui gar ori’haat, bah ka’ra bal Mando’ade?”_  
_“Elek, Sathi, aliit Nott. Ni dinui ner ori’haat – haat, ijaat, haa’it. Ni tayli haar Resol’nare. Ba’jur bal beskar’gam, Ara’nov, aliit, Mando’a bal Mand’alor — An vencuyan mhi.”_

His helmet is finally fitted onto his head – he has tried it, of course, but it is a very powerful symbol. Those who adopt more traditional views are, from this moment, never seen without their helmet again by anyone who isn’t clan. Sathi’s clan is one of those, but sometimes, individuals take up that oath. That is not his case, though.

_“Ke’moti, Obi-Wan,alor be’aliit Kenobi, be’Mando’ad, be’Jetiise. Vercopa gar kemi sa’ti ka’ra.”_

He rises, and for a second, the Force opens and he sees- his Master, standing side by side with generations of Jedi. The former _Mand’alore_ , looking on, watching over them. It lasts only a second, but it rattles him heavily. Around them, the crowd is cheering loudly into the night and he’s almost _surprised_ everything went well. Then again, this is a sacred rite for Mandalorians – even Stewjoni wouldn’t stoop that low. His sons break away to run up to him, cheering and dancing around him, and- They are officially his clan, and so are Anakin and Korkie. He knew this was coming, of course, but it still makes his heart soar.

His friends come forward, laughing, throwing their arms around his shoulders and sharing drinks, and the heavy feeling ebbs away to leave only the elation of something you can only do once. He has sworn to the _Resol’nare_ and the Force shines bright, delighted. The celebration goes on in _Jatnese_ , well into the night. The _Vod’ike_ are put to sleep up in Dahl and Am’s rooms when they fall asleep, despite saying they totally aren’t tired.

Obi-Wan smiles, watching Anakin surrounded by his friends and getting badly smashed – there’s one hell of a hungover waiting for him, unless he manages to use the Force to purge his system. He won’t be the only one, considering how loud Oria is laughing, clinging to him and stumbling, but Obi-Wan can’t help but wonder if she really is _that_ drunk. Her hands, strangely, keep on landing on Anakin’s chest. Well, as long as they’re not idiots about it, it’s not his problem what they do. They’re kriffing adults. 

Three days later, they have appointments with the _Mando’ad_ tattoo artist, Am driving them there. They have been warned: the artist is fairly antisocial and can be unpleasant to deal with, but they are qualified and know their stuff. Most importantly, they are respected amongst the community, for understanding symbols in a way only those of their trade do. The Freedom trail goes through their hands, making them both high-risk target and incredibly important. It speaks well of their character, though, and Anakin is inclined to trust them. 

The Artist, as they are known, is sketching under a lamp when they come in. Obi-Wan takes a deep breath seeing them: while at first glance they look human, the red tattoos on their face are distinctively Kiffar. More tattoos cover up their arms, from their shoulders to the back of their hands, stretching up their neck in complex patterns, and Obi-Wan feels Anakin’s shock through their bond. Glancing at him, he sees his Padawan bow his head to them and touch his brow and- He recognizes the gesture. 

A gesture of respect, between slaves, to one with more experience. That Anakin would do it there, like this, means a lot – it not only implies that he knew within a glance that the Artist once was a slave, but also that he is willing to let Obi-Wan glimpse that part of his identity. Am imitates the gesture, and the Artist answers in kind, before switching to hand-signs to greet them. Their hands are gloved, and Obi-Wan shivers thinking about what this implies. Am signs his goodbye, and leaves them with the Artist. 

“You know what you want”, the Artist tells Anakin, who nods and signs back.  
“Yes”, he says, and that is all Obi-Wan understands from there.  
“You speak in front of him?” the Artist finally asks, and Obi-Wan doesn’t know whether to be relieved or not that he noticed too.  
“He is family”, Anakin finally replies, and Obi-Wan takes a sharp breath. 

He hadn’t realized becoming Mandalorian meant that much _more_ to Anakin – that it meant he would finally be allowed into that secret sanctuary. He didn’t take offence: the secrecy was all that protected slaves. The Artist snorts. 

“Looks like he didn’t know that”, he signs, and pulls his gloves off, offering his hands, palms up. 

Anakin takes off his own and places his own hands into them, stiffening slightly before relaxing. The turmoil in the Force is familiar, and Obi-Wan keeps himself from gaping. He only knew Quinlan with the psychometry ability of reading live beings – all others could, at most, read the dead. Except this Artist is currently reading his Padawan, who isn’t… worried. He’d feel it if he were, and he isn’t. He remains where he is when Anakin follows the Artist behind a curtain, hearing the buzzing as they immediately get down to work. 

Obi-Wan is pretty sure this isn’t how tattooing works, but then, most tattooists can’t read you like they obviously can. The Force hangs heavy there – neither dark nor light, but almost suffocatingly present. Many go through these hands, and not all are found worthy. He worries he might be found lacking. Breathing deeply, he settles into a light meditation to calm his nerves. 

As time passes, he feels Anakin’s presence dim with sleep, and the Artist returns without him. 

“Where is my Padawan?” he signs, worried.  
“Sleeping”, the Artist answers. “My art is demanding.” 

Raising an eyebrow, they lift their palms, and Obi-Wan shakes away his nerves and rests his palms in his. He gasps, his head turning, as what seems to be his whole life passing before his eyes. The Artist’s grip is firm on him though, and he doesn’t waver. 

“Why didn’t you tell?” he asks, and Obi-Wan frowns.  
“What?”  
“Why didn’t you tell the Sky-Walker that you were one of the Ammavikka too?” the Artists signs, staring back at him.  
“I’m not”, Obi-Wan replies. 

The Artist brushes their fingers against his own. 

“There is more to the Ammavikka than language and culture”, he signs slowly. “You were enslaved once. You despise _Depur_. You are one of us.”  
“I wasn’t for long-”  
“It was enough to leave lasting trauma”, the Artist signs. “You are a child of the Ammavikka.” 

Obi-Wan follows the Artist, dazed, behind the curtain, where he takes off his upper armour and _kute_ before sitting down in the chair. 

“Focus”, the Artist tells him. “On who you are, Obi-Wan Kenobi.” 

Obi-Wan closes his eyes, breathes deeply, and slides effortlessly into the Force. It cradles him and makes him reflect on all the events that shaped him into the man he is today. Wipes the future and the past for the present, for who he is now, who he wants to be, who he needs to be. On the chains that don’t look like chains, on the bonds that one might accept to make life worth it. There are many chains binding him, but he took those on himself. This is not slavery. 

The pain from the needles is present, but it is background to his concerns. The Artist is wrapped in the Force in a way he thought only the Jedi would achieve. They follow its will, completely – for good and for evil. Hands that heal and hurt, that make bonds and break them. The Artist don’t need their voice to tell him the meaning behind the tattoos. 

When he opens his eyes again, the Artist is done, washing their hands, and he motions him towards a full-length mirror. There is a collar of white symbols, barely visible, all around his throat. This is the story of Ekkreth, of the slave who makes free. It makes him want to cry. On the inside of his left wrist is the symbol of the Taung, that will signal all _Mando’ade_ of his origins. Less symbolic, more practical – he has Taung blood, and it must be acknowledged. Up his right forearm are five Mandalorian symbols, one for each of his _vod’ike_. Another represents Anakin – a Krayt dragon coiled around his left biceps, its jaws open to break the chains of slavery: a broken circle, for the Freed. The last is a bouquet of Mandalorian lilies wrapped around the Taung symbol, over his outer left forearm. Korkie. 

He notices that there is nothing for the Jedi order. He also knows why. He is a Jedi. He will never cease to be one, he was one from the earliest age. Slavery, becoming Mandalorian, his children, his Padawan – he once lived without those things. Being a Jedi, though, is less about belonging to an Order, and more about who he chooses to be. He is a Jedi, down to his bones, down to his blood. 

“Thank you”, he signs, his hands trembling a little. 

The Artist doesn’t reply, but guides him to a little room in the back. There are three cots there; Anakin is sleeping in one, and Obi-Wan settles on the second. He lets the Artist apply a healing cream that, unlike bacta, will not damage the tattoos, watching over Anakin. He is almost completely healed already, and has far less tattoos than him. Only two, in fact: the broken circle over his heart, and the Jedi Order symbol on his left forearm. 

“He is young still”, the Artist says. “There will be more.” 

After that, Obi-Wan falls asleep. 

He is walking in a field of green grass, lush and vibrant. The grass starts to wilt, dies and rots, the earth goes barren under his feet. The air is a sickly yellow, poisoned in a way that makes his eyes water. A solitary figure stands, wrapped in shadows. 

“Are you strong enough?” it asks, its voice screeching and making his ears bleed. 

Something slams into him, sending him to the ground. He is dazed, and doesn’t have time to block it. It hits, again, and again, and again. He can barely breathe. 

“Pathetic”, the voice says again. 

_Stand up_ , something whispers to him.  
_What for? I’m not strong enough._  
_Stand up_ , it whispers again.  
_Stand up_ , it urges him, and, groaning, he stands up. 

That is all he can do. A hand claps over his shoulder. 

“We’re always behind you, sir”, a voice says, serious but friendly, and he feels himself grin.  
“You are never alone”, Anakin says, sliding under his arm, holding him up.  
“You will never be alone”, Cerasi says, smiling at him. 

_Stand up_ , it says. _Stand up, and we will fight for you._

The figure of shadows screeches, and a lightning bolts streaks the sky, hits it, and turns it to ashes. 

_Alone, you are not strong enough_ , the voice whispers. _But you are not alone. You never will be._

He turns around, and there are countless people standing behind him. The Jedi, wrapping him in their familiar comfort. The _Mando’ade_ , curling their protective love around him. The barren earth disappears, changed for a white field. 

“This is it”, a voice says, and there is a Mandalorian standing beside him. He has seen that armour before, though he doesn’t remember where. “This is what _Cin Vhetin_ means.” Their blank visor turns towards him. _“Olarom yaim’ol, verd’ika.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _verd'goten_ : trial to adulthood in Mandalorian culture, usually passed at 13, where one proves they know how to use weapons and survival techniques. Lit: soldier birth.  
>  _shebs_ : ass.  
>  _baar'ur_ : medic, shortened to Br.  
>  _birikad_ : baby-sling.  
>  _ori'n'ijaat_ : the Great Shame.  
>  _gai Skywalker, be’Jetiise. K’olar_ : Name Skywalker, of the Jedi. Come [forward.]  
>  _Tion’gar dinui gar ori’haat, bah ka’ra bal Mando’ade?”  
>  “Elek, Sathi, aliit Nott. Ni dinui ner ori’haat – haat, ijaat, haa’it. Ni tayli haar Resol’nare. Ba'jur bal beskar'gam, Ara'nov, aliit, Mando'a bal Mand'alor — An vencuyan mhi.”_: "Will you give your oath/will you swear, to the stars and to the Mandalorians?" "Yes, Sathi, clan Nott. I give my oath – truth, vision, honour. I hold/keep/preserve the Six Actions. Education and armour, self-defence, family, our language and our leader – all help us survive."  
>  _“Ke’moti, Anakin, be’Mando’ad, be’Jetiise. Vercopa gar kemi sa’ti ka’ra.”_ : Rise (lit: stand [up]), Anakin, of the Mandalorians, of the Jedi. May you walk among the stars/the Mand’alore.  
> Note: Vercopa gar kemi sa’ti ka’ra: A very strong blessing, traditionally given for a Cin Vhetin or verd'goten, but otherwise not used. May be given to one about to die. (I made up that one)  
>  _alor be’aliit Kenobi_ : chief/leader/head of Clan Kenobi.  
>  _Depur_ : Master (Amattaka). See end note.  
>  _Olarom yaim’ol, verd’ika._ : Welcome back home, little soldier.
> 
> Note: once again, all references regarding slave culture come from the Double Agent Vader series.


	38. The Armourer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Obi-Wan and Anakin keep on learning, albeit very different skills.  
> And in which... we talk about Quinlan and Siri.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CT-3381 / Skira, blind.  
> CT-3382 / Tracyn, deaf, blond, golden eyes.  
> CT-3383/ Runi, Nautolan.  
> CT-3384/ Naak, Togruta.  
> CT-3385/Haat, autistic.

Obi-Wan starts the kata again. He’s drenched in sweat, his limbs trembling, but he can go on. Once he knows where his limit is, then he can start pushing it back. Soresu, the Endurance Form. He has trained with it, again and again and again, and its moves flow easily through him. Endurance is important. To withstand the trials of a Jedi life. To raise children. To live through slavery.

He tries to focus on the form, but his mind keeps on tugging him back to that moment, two weeks ago, when he woke up in the backroom at the Artist and found his Padawan crying over him. He tries, but…

When Obi-Wan awakes, Anakin is kneeling by his side. He’s also crying in heavy muffled sobs, and Obi-Wan frowns, wondering why it didn’t wake him up sooner. His mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton, but he finds the strength to roll over and pet Anakin’s hair.

“What happened, dear one?” he asks tiredly, his whole body aching.  
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Anakin asks through a stuffy nose, his eyes red-rimmed. “All these years, and you-”

Obi-Wan instinctively reaches up for his neck, where his new tattoo stands out. It is obvious this is what has Anakin in such a state. A collar. The design isn’t mere chance, he knows that.

“My experience pales compared to yours”, he replies softly. “I cannot comprehend what it is you went through, or the way you grew up.”  
“Slavery is slavery”, Anakin replies, grabbing his hand and squeezing tight. “No matter the kind, no matter how long. Slavery is slavery, Obi-Wan. I’m sorry it happened to you.”

It baffles Obi-Wan, that Anakin, who was born a slave, would say such a thing. But compassion is a Jedi quality and Obi-Wan wouldn’t rob him of that. When Anakin asks what happened, Obi-Wan tells him in a low voice of being sent to the AgriCorps. Of Xanatos, and Bandomeer. He cannot stand the look of horror on his Padawan’s face, but he lets him say words of comfort the Ammavikka have built for themselves.

His tattoos, thankfully, remain mostly hidden by either his robes or his _kute_ – unless, like now, he’s training in lighter clothes. Anakin teaches him the ways of the Ammavikka, the same way he taught his brothers. Quietly, by example. He doesn’t know why the Artist gave him the story of Ekkreth. He isn’t one of the few Jedi who are sent to actively dismantle slavery cartels. But, when he is alone, when he has some time before meditating, he recites the story to himself, wraps it around his flesh as a safeguard.

_The chain has not been made which can never be broken._

The collar around his neck is artfully broken, an incomplete circle. It isn’t visible at first, but he knows it. Ekkreth is the slave who makes free. When he proposed to use the bomb of his collar… _Dukkra ba dukkra_. There is more than one type of freedom. He already knew that. He doesn’t know why he allowed himself to forget.

The Force tugs him out of his thoughts. He almost dismisses it: he hasn’t reached his limit yet. But the tugging is insistent, and with a sigh, he switches his lightsabre off and grabs his robes, which are meant to go to the hamper anyway, and makes his way back to his quarters.

He understands the insistent tugging when he enters and finds Haat climbed on a stool, standing at the stove and dutifully stirring a wonderful-smelling soup. The sight almost gives him a heart attack. His son should be in _class_ , not… risking a domestic disaster in their quarters.

“What are you doing here?” he asks gently, slowly stepping towards him. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”  
“Ani’vod needed help”, Haat replies with a stern look of focus. “It was better to help him than to go in class.”

Obi-Wan pinches his nose. Calm. He must be calm.

“It is very kind of you to help your brother”, he says. “However, using the stove is dangerous, and your professor is probably looking for you. Please, climb down this stool.”  
“But the soup-”  
“I’ll make sure it doesn’t burn”, Obi-Wan promises.

Haat comes to stand before him, looking down dejectedly. Obi-Wan crouches to be at his height.

“Hey. I’m very proud that you took the initiative to help your brother. Do you understand why I was angry though?”  
“’Cause I skipped class?” Haat signs.  
“In part”, Obi-Wan admits. “I was angry because I was scared. You are still very young, Haat. You shouldn’t use the stove without an adult helping you. You could burn yourself badly, or others. I just want you to be safe. When you grow up, you’ll learn to use the stove securely, so you can use it alone, but not yet. Do you understand?”

Haat nods, and Obi-Wan presses their brows together.

“Now, where is Anakin, and why did you think he needed soup?”  
“In the bathroom”, Haat replies. “The others are helping him wash up. He wanted to go straight to bed.”

Obi-Wan lets out a sigh.

“I see”, he says, cutting the stove off – the soup is ready now. “It was good idea to make him stay up, he needs both the food and the shower.”

Haat shivers.

“He threw up”, he signs. “He didn’t say, but I know.”  
“You don’t need to worry, Haat”, Obi-Wan tells him gently. “Now, since dinner is ready thanks to you, you and your brothers will set the table, and then you will call your teacher to apologize for skipping their class.”

He then goes to knock on the ajar bathroom’s door, pushing it open. Anakin is falling asleep in the bathtub, covered in foam, while Skira dutifully washes his hair. Naak is currently reaching for the small med pack they keep, intent on using the bacta, while Tracyn is putting a large towel to heat, struggling with the width of it. Runi is nowhere to be seen, but he enters then with Anakin’s bedclothes. Anakin sports a black eye, a split lip, and a blooming dark bruise on his cheek. There’s no telling the state of his body, but Obi-Wan has no reason to doubt it’s ugly.

All three children in the bathroom are also drenched from head to toe. Obi-Wan sighs.

“Alright, I’m taking up from here”, he says. “You boys stick those clothes in the hamper, get your bath ponchos on, and go help Haat set the table.”

This time, there are no protests and they file out, leaving the two of them there.

“That bad?” Obi-Wan asks.  
“Mmh”, Anakin stirs faintly. “I can’t move. Almost didn’t make it back there.”  
“Are you clean?”  
“I think so.”  
“Close your eyes”, Obi-Wan tells him, rinsing the shampoo from his hair.

Then, he gets him out of the tub and wrapped into the towel. He’s black and blue all over, but that’s the worst of the injuries. Obi-Wan remembers very well how hard Sathi can hit.

“I’ll get you some food, you eat while I apply some bacta, okay?” he asks, and Anakin nods sluggishly.

Obi-Wan remembers how it feels, to only wish to be in bed. He pours some of the broth into a bowl, and grabs bland crackers. He’ll be ravenous in the morning, but right now, Obi-Wan doubts he can eat more than that.

“Do you have regrets?” he asks as he dabs bacta over sliced skin ringed by an ugly bruise.  
“Worth it”, Anakin rasps. “Doesn’t mean I like it, though.”

Sathi had warned, when they proposed Anakin to become their apprentice, that training would be extremely brutal. That becoming armourer, like becoming a Jedi, took not only special people, but years of hard work to achieve. They warned that his resolve and physical endurance would be tested, farther than they ever were before.

So now, Anakin is training to become armourer, and Sathi pushes him farther and farther, both in body and in spirit. The armourer is the last one standing. The one who safeguards traditions and legends; who knows secrets only ever transmitted from armourer to armourer. He has learnt, already, how to recognize one bearing Taung blood from their screenings.

Anakin eats with trembling hands, but he finishes his broth, and all the crackers Obi-Wan brought. Almost covered in bacta from head to toe, Obi-Wan helps him pass his sleepwear on, and bypasses supporting him in favour of carrying him off to bed.

“Good night”, he whispers as he sets him down.

Anakin is already asleep, by then, and Obi-Wan smiles. Back in the living-room, the table is set, and his children are finishing their call to their teacher. Obi-Wan thanks them and re-heats the soup, adding some more nutrients elements to their table. As he looks at them, he can’t help feeling unbearably proud. He has sent them off to shower and get in their pyjamas when there’s a knock at his door. Mace is standing there, looking grim. Obi-Wan wonders why the Force didn’t warn him.

“Come in”, he says.

He busies himself with making tea for them both.

“I came to inform you”, Mace finally says. “Siri and Quinlan’s investigation took them to Wild Space a few weeks ago. We have lost all contact with them. Starting tonight, they are officially missing in action.”

Obi-Wan puts his mug down, and breathes out, closing his eyes. Why didn’t the Force warn him?

*

“Welcome to Tipoca City, Masters Jedi”, the tall alien says, and Quinlan blinks. “The Prime Minister has been waiting for you.”  
“I assumed as much”, Quinlan replies with aplomb, even while exchanging a bewildered gaze with Siri.

Her lips are pursed. They separated for a while after getting their missions, clues bringing them to different spots, but they re-joined a few months before, their paths once more the same. Wherever Jango Fett is, there they’ll find the clones.

They do find them. Millions of them. Soldiers, training for war. _Slaves_. Commissioned by the Jedi. The oldest are still teenagers – and yet, they are eight years old. The _Vod’ike_ ’s accelerated growth makes sense, finally put back in its context. So does the decommissioning.

“And the Template?”

_Where is my quarry_ , Quinlan wants to ask. The bastard has been playing him for too long now, dragging him all over the galaxy. He had to make a mistake eventually, and here they are. On Kamino. Where, apparently, clones of Jango Fett are being grown in jars.

“We keep him here”, the Kaminoan replies.  
“I’d like to meet him.”  
“He is currently training some of the CC batches”, their guide says.

Two hours later, the training is completed and Quinlan can finally stare at Jango Fett in the eye. The man must know who he is, given how he freezes upon seeing him.

“Boba?” he says, “go see the Alphas. See what you can learn.” He opens a door, and motions them in. “I’m both very glad to see you and absolutely horrified.”  
“You could have made it easier and allow me to catch you”, Quinlan retorts. “You’ve gotten yourself in an interesting mess, _Mand’alor_.”

Jango glares at him, but doesn’t deny the title. Progress. The last intel Quinlan had said Jango refused it quite violently.

“You shouldn’t be here”, Jango hisses. “It’s too early, they’re not ready.”  
“For what? For war?”

Jango nods. Just once, and dread pools in Quinlan’s stomach. When a man prepares for war, he often finds it.

“Well we’re in this together now”, Jango says, huffing. “I can’t let you go back.”  
“That is not for you to decide”, Siri retorts hotly. “I was sent to retrieve the clones. There’s more than we expected to find, but I’m-”  
“Just as trapped as I am”, Jango cuts her. “You send the slightest message to the Order? You’re dead. I’m dead. Probably a good bunch of the boys are dead. Listen- Now that you’re here, you can help. You can save more of them than I can.”  
“How?” Quinlan asks. “Surely you get why we’re sceptical.”  
“Because you’re kriffing _Jedi_ and I’m just the template and main trainer”, Jango growls. “These kids? They belong to your Order. You’re the client, the Kaminoans will listen. You can train the Force-Sensitive ones so they don’t blow us up.”

Quinlan sits down, Siri leaning against a wall.

“Start from the beginning.”

Quinlan barges in the lab seconds before the tubbies are given a fatal injection. The scientists dealt with, he looks into one of the bassinets. He receives a gummy smile in answer, wide dark brown eyes looking up at him, the baby gnawing on his toes and babbling.

“Aww, kriff. Why did you have to be such a cute little bugger?” he bemoans just as he lifts CC-2637-95 from the bassinet.

CC-2637-95 sends him a sense of quiet wonder into the Force, squealing happily, and Quinlan gently strokes down a small, pudgy arm. Above them, the light starts flickering and CC-2637-95 sends him a dreadful feeling: hunger. His smile disappears, his face scrunches in dismay as he readies to cry.

Quinlan panics.

“No no no, all will be well, all will be well!”

There’s a snicker coming from behind him, and he turns to see a young clone, though not dressed in the usual uniform, laughing at him.

“ _Buir_ always says they feel it if you panic”, the boy says. “C’mon, I’ll show you where they keep the milk.”

Siri stays frozen, unmoving, even as the Mandalorian trainers laugh their hearts out. She has two squads of five currently clinging to her. Ten boys of around ten years old wrapped around her and refusing to let go. Promising they’ll protect her. That it is what they are training to do.

She slowly allows herself to relax, and gently pets the short hair of the closest one. You wouldn’t think she has just announced she’d be taking over their training. The most promising of their generation – she picked them because she saw skill in them, that she knew she could hone. It’s not unlike picking a Padawan, she guesses. One of them peeks up at her and smiles, showing the gaps where his teeth fell.

“Thank you for picking us, sir”, he says.  
“Siri”, she says. “My name is Siri.”

They exchange looks. She knows names are precious for them – that they obtain them.

“My name is Tup”, the one missing his teeth replies, nodding firmly, and she smiles.

She shouldn’t have teased Quinlan about getting attached to them. In the end, she’s just as bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The chain has not been made which can never be broken._ : Once again, sentence from "[The Slave Who Makes Free](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12929895)".  
>  _Dukkra ba dukkra_ : Freedom or Death. (also from The Slave Who Makes Free).


	39. Cal Kestis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, Korkie stays in Little Manda'yaim and has some plans, and with Anakin... stumbles into a problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! A quick note before we start!
> 
> 1 - The Cal Kestis idea was brought up on the Discord Server for this fic by lostclaw, since it fit seamlessly with things I had already stated, I decided to make it DU canon.  
> 2 - Several of you wondered about Jango letting the Jedi know he has Quinlan and Siri. I am working assuming that Jango has a confidentiality contract (the trainers being unable to leave, he is the only potential breach). He said as much to Am, who knows nothing of where he is or what he might be doing. Nearly all the trainers are assumed dead, only a few have told loved ones they took a contract. For better or for worse, Quinlan and Siri are in that position too now - with the added threat that Dooku can't discover Jango left them alive. It's literally a matter of their own security that they are believed at least missing, if not dead.  
> 3 - I've tried to catch all the mistakes I made but uh if you spot one, tell me so I can edit it. (Yes, it showed that I was tired when I wrote lol )
> 
> There is... a lot less than originally planned for this chapter because Anakin and Korkie decided to have a talk. (And also because life got in my way)
> 
> *
> 
> CT-3381 / Skira, blind.  
> CT-3382 / Tracyn, deaf, blond, golden eyes.  
> CT-3383/ Runi, Nautolan.  
> CT-3384/ Naak, Togruta.  
> CT-3385/Haat, autistic.

“I will be staying here, in Little Manda’yaim, for the foreseeable future”, Korkie declares.

He’s still too angry to talk about important things to his mother, but- he sends her messages telling her he is fine. Talks about his new brothers, mostly, and says nothing about Obi-Wan himself or what he learns about Mandalorian culture. Obi-Wan knows it hurts Satine, this distance between them, but that she understands it. Korkie has become fascinated by Anakin’s training. He can’t be there for all of it, but as Anakin learns all the legends, and learns to tell them, Korkie finally hears about them too.

“Then, we need to make some arrangements. We can’t impose on the Mev for too long.”  
“I’ve found an apprenticeship”, Korkie replies, like he has thought of everything already. “I’ve always been interested in the matter of the law. I went with Anakin last time he visited the Senate, and met quite a number of people. Senator Amidala has agreed to take me on as a Junior Assistant.” He smiles. “It includes physical training with the Royal Handmaidens.”

Korkie certainly has a knack for hiding things, that much is certain. Obi-Wan is impressed, really.

“I’m surprised she agreed. You are Mandalorian, and Mandalore isn’t part of the Republic.”  
“My father being a Jedi, and thus a Republic citizen, I benefit from Republic citizenship. You do remember we went through the documentation together, yes?” Korkie says, smugly. “Naboo’s culture is fascinating, and they have a history of allowing young people in places of power. Few others would let me do as much. I like having another place than Little Manda’yaim where I can be recognized as a full adult.”  
“Very well then”, Obi-Wan says with a smile. “You certainly could have found worse politicians. Senator Amidala is trustworthy, and driven by ideals, rather than greed.”

Korkie nods.

“I will receive a stipend for my work, and mother has initiated a monthly transfer to give me some more autonomy. I’ve found a room for rent in Little Manda’yaim… I’ll be sharing the house with five others, but it’s large enough and we’ll likely all be busy.”  
“And you know who they are already?” Obi-Wan asks, now worried – if he’s in a Death Watch den, things could turn to a disaster.  
“I met them through Anakin”, Korkie replies. “They’re his friends, surely you must know them.”

Obi-Wan knows Anakin’s _traat’aliit_ quite well indeed, and this does _not_ reassure him. Dahl has told him enough of picking the eldest of the group up at 79’s completely drunk and being wildly obnoxious – and sometimes a bit too _public_ in their affections – while Anakin stayed with them. He really doesn’t want a repeat with Korkie.

Korkie bursts out laughing at his expression.

“Don’t make that face! The house belongs to an older couple who have promised all _buire_ to keep us in line, and everyone under sixteen has a midnight curfew. Really, everything will be _fine_.”  
“I see you’re being very reasonable”, Obi-Wan replies, moustache twitching in amusement. “I won’t stop you, of course, but don’t hesitate if you need anything. Be diligent in your work, but don’t get yourself buried in it. And I insist on at least one family dinner per week at the Temple.”

Korkie smiles and Obi-Wan hugs him. His son is driven by duty. Like Obi-Wan is, like Satine is. It shouldn’t surprise him, nor should his choice of apprenticeship. He only knows Padmé as Queen Amidala, but there is no doubt she will make the best of her recent election to senatorial duty. What worries him is the knowledge that a Sith had access to the Senate. There is no way to know if it was a one-time thing, or a regular occurrence. The latter wouldn’t surprise him over much: after all, it would make sense for the Sith to be close to the heart of the Republic, where the powerful dwell.

Per the Council’s orders, Anakin hasn’t been allowed back without an escort – most of the time, one of his Mandalorian friends to make it less obnoxious – and similar orders have been given for Padawans. Korkie, thankfully, will beneficiate from at least one Mandalorian escort – a rotation of three Mandalorian guards from the embassy, there to protect the only heir to the Kelevala duchy and Mandalorian throne.

“I should move, or I’m going to be late”, Korkie declares. “Anakin said he’d present me to the Chancellor today. I’m still surprised that they seem to be such good friends”, he adds, musing.

Obi-Wan doesn’t answer. He knows, from talking with Anakin, that his Padawan questions his friendship with the Chancellor, and especially some of his behaviour. Anakin keeps perfectly polite and friendly with the older man, but he has still reduced the amount he used to divulge about his private life, and especially, mentions of his brothers, which seemed to annoy the politician to no end. They have both come to the conclusion that it is likely Palpatine played the long game and attempted to befriend him for his own purpose. Many Senators would want a friendship with the Jedi for such use, and Anakin nearly fell in that trap. Obi-Wan can’t help but think he should have been more careful with who he allowed near his apprentice.

A few days later, playing messenger for his _buir_ ’s friends, Korkie walks the corridors of the Temple. He recognizes some of them, and many Jedi nod to him in passing, but he’d still get lost so easily if it weren’t for his father’s distinctive scent. It seems a little strange, today, though. Maybe he’s feeling under the weather – it wouldn’t be surprising.

“Korkie? You need something?” Anakin asks when he coincidentally steps out of a classroom, _buy’ce_ to his belt.

He has a split lip and a black eye healing, going greenish, but he looks a lot better than last time Korkie saw him. The training is harsh, but it bears its fruit.

“I have a message from Elath _be_ Wren for _buir_ ”, Korkie replies. “I was looking for him.”  
“He’s at the Coruscanti Museum of Art with the _vod’ike_ ”, Anakin says, looking curious. “He won’t be back until later tonight, it’s a long trip there.”

Korkie cocks his head, puzzled. He can still definitely smell that scent that belongs to Stewjoni – he smelled it some more, in Little Manda’yaim, but never approached the ones bearing it. They radiated hatred towards him, for being both New Mandalorian and son of _Ori’n’ijaat_ – though they have started to warm up to him a bit, especially since he made it clear he has absolutely no Force-sensitivity whatsoever.

“Is there a problem?”  
“I can smell him”, Korkie replies. “I shouldn’t, if he isn’t there.”

Anakin tenses immediately, bringing a hand to his lightsabre.

“You’re saying there’s a Stewjoni in the Temple”, he states.  
“I mean… yeah, probably.”

He grimaces. Kark, this is no good, no good at all. Anakin on his heels, he hastens to follow the scent, Anakin’s own scent growing sourer and sourer with worry – though humans likely can’t smell it – as they approach the crèches aisle. Korkie pushes open a door, and about ten heads look up at him, along with the Mon Calamari crèche-master.

“Sorry to disturb”, he says, but steps forward still, following his nose, scanning everyone.

It is one of the children. Anakin understood that too, given the sharp breath he’s just taken, his lips moving has he whispers what Sathi taught him, what she learnt from the exiled Stewjoni warriors: only three Stewjoni Force-sensitive have been born in the last fifty years. The first one, forty-eight years ago. No one ever found their trace again. The second one, Obi-Wan, about thirty years ago. The last one, less than ten years prior. All traces of them lost when the warriors’ ship was attacked by pirates, the _ikaad_ stolen and promptly disappeared. They thought them lost to slavery, but-

Korkie stops in front of a child with red hair, staring back at him with curious eyes. He can’t be more than eight. Slowly, Korkie crouches.

“Hello”, he says. “I’m Korkie Kenobi. What’s your name?”  
“I’m Cal”, he replies. “Cal Kestis.”

Anakin blanches.

“Oh Force”, he whispers. “Kal Kesutis…” He turns to the crèche-master. “I must check something urgently with Initiate Kestis at the Healer, Master Rhi.”

His tone leaves no room for an argument, and the crèche-master nods.

“Cal, please go with Padawan Skywalker. Padawan Skywalker, you bring him back, or if you must keep him past dinner time, please send a comm.”  
“I will, Master”, Anakin promises. “It shouldn’t be long, I think.”

Cal stands up, flustered, and follows after them.

“Do you know where you’re from?” Anakin asks gently, looking at the small Initiate following him.

Cal shakes his head.

“I was found as a baby by a Master, next to a dumpster on Ord Mantell. There was a Weequay symbol to ward off evil spirits drawn on my forehead”, he adds with a little smile. “The Masters think I probably used the Force and frightened whoever had me. I’m obviously not Weequay.”  
“But you are not named following the tradition?” Anakin asks, feeling his intuition reinforced.  
“My name was written on a piece of flimsi stuck in my covers”, Cal replies. “By someone who didn’t know how to write well, so it’s likely I wasn’t really named Cal Kestis.” He pauses. “Why do you need to see me? I’m not sick.”  
“I just need to confirm something”, Anakin replies. “Master Naavri, can I borrow a scanner please?” he asks as he comes in.

The healer has gotten used to his requests lately, and directs him to one. Cal doesn’t protest getting his blood tested, swinging his legs idly while the results process. Anakin reads them over, quickly analysing the markers Sathi taught him to read as Taung-blood markers.

“Kriff”, he musters, reading them a second time, and then doing a second test to be really sure it wasn’t a fluke.

It all lines up, though. Kal Kesutis had, from the reports, been five months old when his Force-sensitivity was revealed to the Stewjoni. Unlike Obi-Wan, he was named and known already, and while his _dar’buire_ sent him away as was custom, they apparently didn’t take away his name. The child was then lost during a pirate attack – and Cal Kestis appeared on Ord Mantell two months later, with symbols to warn off evil. Kal Kesutis. “As one with the blade”. A name fitting for a Jedi, just as it had been fitting for a Mandalorian child.

“What’s wrong?” Cal asks, frowning. “You’re all… buzzy?”  
“Nothing is _wrong_ ”, Anakin replies, glancing at Korkie. “It’s just…” He takes a breath. The kid deserves to know, though how much and when is for the Council and _Mando’ade_ to decide. “You were born Mandalorian”, he finally says, and Cal’s jaw drops open.  
“Me?”, he asks, unable to believe it.  
“You”, Anakin smiles. “ _Kal Kesutis_. It is the name you were given. _Kesutis_ is _aliit_ , that is, the name of your clan. It means ‘as one with’. _Kal_ means ‘blade’. Do you hear the difference?”  
“The ‘k’ sounds harder when you say it”, Cal replies. “Does it mean I get to wear _beskar’gam_ like you?”

Anakin smiles.

“Only if you learn the _Resol’nare_ and commit to it.”

Cal nods. Most of the children in the crèche know what the _Resol’nare_ is and what I entails by now, which is more than can be said for some adult Jedi.

“C’mon, I’ll bring you back to your crèche-master”, he says.

Once Cal is back safely within the crèche, Anakin lets out a breath, and Korkie groans.

“This is a diplomatic mess”, the younger one says. “The _Resol’nare_ -”  
“It’s not for you to worry about”, Anakin replies gently. “Let the Council do their job.”  
“But-”  
“The _Mando’ade_ as a whole have their say on Mandalorian matters. I sincerely doubt that even if Cal’s Stewjoni _buire_ were to reclaim him, it would be accepted. His presence within the Temple is his choice, and the Order is his legal guardian. If they are anything like the other Stewjoni, they will reject him on the simple basis that he is Force-sensitive. It is very likely they didn’t even look for him after he was kidnapped.”

Korkie listens, and finally crosses his arms.

“I’m Mandalorian too! And I-”  
“Are you?” Anakin counters with more patience than he usually shows. “Korkie, you must understand this: for Old Clans, Death Watch and remaining True Mandalorians, the New Mandalorian ideology is a hateful crime. A complete genocide of our culture, and what we believe in. It is your choice whether to follow the _Resol’nare_ or not, but as long as you’re New Mandalorian, you’ll be _aruetii_. For some, you will even be _dar’manda_. I know you mean no wrong, and most in Little Manda’yaim who know you also know that. But you should be mindful of what your ideals represent for most of the Diaspora.”

Korkie opens his mouth, shuts it, opens it again.

“I only want my people to know peace”, he finally says. “And traditional Mandalorian culture is very… war-mongering.”

Anakin sits down onto one of the numerous benches that can be found in the large corridors, and motions him to do the same.

“What do you know about Jaster Mereel, _Mand’alor_ the Reformer? _Mand’alor darasuum’la_ , he is called in Mando’a.”  
“He was _Mand’alor_ during the last Civil War”, Korkie answers, “and led the True Mandalorians until his death. He was succeeded to by his son Jango Fett.”

Anakin nods, and pulls out a pad, upon which he starts to write down all the different protagonists of the civil war. It takes him several hours and Korkie doesn’t interrupt, though it is clear when he disagrees, letting him explain everything. His eyes are shining with tears, though, by the time Anakin finishes.

“We preach peace upon thrones built on bones”, he finally says, wiping his eyes. “I- _why?”_  
“To appeal to the Republic”, Anakin repeats for the third time. “Mandalore has been weakened, and in a way… in a way, for the good of the people, it is better that the New Mandalorians won the war. Death Watch would have destroyed itself, and Mandalore along. Without justice, peace is a lie.” His mouth twists. “There is no war in Hutt Space. But there is no justice either. As a Jedi, as former slave, and as a Mandalorian, I cannot stand by idly while others suffer if it is in my power to do something. So this is what you must ask yourself: what are you willing to sacrifice for peace?”

There is a long silence, and Korkie finally talks.

“Why… Why didn’t _buir_ tell me of this?”  
“Probably so you don’t feel like he’s trying to sway you to the True Mandalorians’ side”, Anakin replies, shrugging. “I don’t actually know what kind of arrangement he has made with your mother. You’d have to ask him yourself.”

Korkie nods, and tries a weak smile. Anakin claps his shoulder, shaking him a bit.

“Think about it, because it’s important, but don’t let it ruin your day”, he says. “Especially your day off. How about this: I’ll come down to Little Manda’yaim and we’ll have dinner with Arkon, Oria, Neraa, Sohet and Ytis. You can go back home with Sohet and Ytis before your curfew that way.”  
“And you can sleep outside of the Temple”, Korkie snorts. “I’m not stupid. If you want to get laid, no need for such intricate plans.”  
“Do you seriously think I need intricates plans to get laid?” Anakin asks with a laugh. “I simply want to spend an evening with my friends and my baby brother.”  
“If tomorrow morning I see you doing the walk of shame, I _will_ judge you”, Korkie warns, though he is smiling.  
“What walk of shame? If you see me tomorrow morning, it’ll be because I’m taking my breakfast in the house’s kitchen. No shame in that.”

Korkie laughs, and Anakin reaches out and ruffles his hair.

“I actually have to tell the Council about Cal”, Anakin says, standing up. “Obi-Wan won’t be back before dinner, what about the message you had for him?”  
“It can wait until tomorrow, I’ll just tell Elath when I see him”, Korkie nods.

Anakin watches him go, and then turns on his heels to find Master Windu and request a Council meeting as soon as possible, though not in absolute urgency.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _traat'aliit_ : squad, team.  
>  _Ori'n'ijaat_ : the Great Shame.  
>  _ikaad_ : child under three years old.  
>  _aruetii_ : foreigner.
> 
> About Cal's name and my reasoning behind it: Cal Kestis = Kal Ke'su'ti = shortened for _Ke'solus'ti_ = Blade, As one with. [Kesuti = Clan name, "As one with [thing]"]. So, his name technically means "As one with the blade".


	40. Cal Kestis - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family meetings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can now find a guide to the Original Characters in the following work of the series!  
> Also, a reminder for this chapter that Stewjoni learn Basic *after* leaving Stewjon...
> 
> *
> 
> CT-3381 / Skira, blind.  
> CT-3382 / Tracyn, deaf, blond, golden eyes.  
> CT-3383/ Runi, Nautolan.  
> CT-3384/ Naak, Togruta.  
> CT-3385/Haat, autistic.

Master Windu is staring back at Anakin, his steepled fingers in front of his face. It’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking. It’s easier with Master Yoda: he has his ears leaning back in worry, and a frown of focus on his brow.

“Thank you for the information, Padawan Skywalker. Be sure that we will do what is necessary to get in contact with the relevant authority.”  
“Masters”, Anakin starts. “I mean no disrespect, if you intend to go to the armourer with this information, I can already tell you what they’ll say.”  
“Which is?”  
“Cal’s parents might have sent him away with the warriors, but he was under the guard of _aliit_. Namely, his _ba’vodu_ Rhytri Kesuti. The Kesuti _aliit_ is very respected among the Stewjoni, and also amongst Death Watch, as while for their safety, Force-sensitive children can’t remain on Stewjon, the clan in the galaxy at large takes responsibility for them. I think it likely that they searched for Cal after he was kidnapped, as a child of their own. There are factions on Stewjoni, though I cannot detail them for you, and the Kesuti _aliit_ has a very… moderate behaviour towards Force-sensitive of their own. But the Jedi won’t be welcome among them, even to bring good news.”  
“Afraid of their Force-Sensitive children, not all Stewjoni are, mmh?” Master Yoda asks. “Your suggestion, what is?”  
“Allow Master Kenobi and I, not as a Master-Padawan pair, but as a Stewjoni and an apprentice armourer, to deal with this matter. If there is a chance that they will listen, it’ll be that.”  
“And if we don’t?” Master Piell asks. “What, then?”

Anakin slowly turns to face him.

“Then, you should know that you are sending Jedi to a certain death, and be responsible for it. Such an action would of course also lose us some Mandalorian support.”  
“You are certain of that?” Master Yaddle asks. “That a Jedi would be killed?”  
“Yes. And telling them we have one of their children is a dangerous message to bear.”  
“You think they might reclaim Initiate Kestis”, states Master Windu.  
“It is very likely, yes”, Anakin replies. “And they would be within their rights. Unless a… truce, of a sort, can be sparked. I have been learning all about Stewjoni politics these past weeks, Masters. It cannot be a coincidence.”  
“Too well-timed, for a coincidence, this is”, Master Yoda agrees. “Agree with Padawan Skywalker, I do. Send him, Master Kenobi and Initiate Kestis to the Kesuti _aliit_ , we should.”  
“The Initiate?” Master Poof repeats. “But-”  
“Value children, Mandalorians do”, Master Yoda reminds them. “To hurt a child, against their code, it is. Wrong, am I, Padawan Skywalker?”  
“No, Master”, Anakin replies. “You are right.”  
“We will have an answer for you tomorrow”, Master Windu says. “Thank you, Padawan Skywalker.”  
“Thank you for your time, Masters”, Anakin replies, bowing at the waist.

Even with Obi-Wan in on the plan, and Sathi, it takes time for them to track down where Cal’s _ba’vodu_ is, and find an acceptable way to initiate contact. Which means the message Korkie bore regains all its importance. And even some urgency – Iolar, being in Temple, is cared for and safe, along with Bodhi, despite no longer having a clan. It’s a whole other matter for Elath, once he has shed his links to the Wren _aliit_. To be clan-less is to be vulnerable. Easy prey with no back-up.

“I’d say I’m a bit put out Elath chose you, when I’ve been spending close to five years trying to convince him to leave and become part of my clan”, Dahl says with a laugh, “but he looks so happy now. I had never seen him smile like this.”

Obi-Wan smiles into his drink and follows his gaze, to where Elath, his armour painted anew, his laughing with his arm around Anakin’s shoulders. There’s a light in Elath’s eyes, now, that there wasn’t before. Iolar is upstairs with Am, to lay Bodhi to sleep, away from the noise of the _Jatnese_ , but his face lights up just as much.

All it took for Elath to gain three sons were a few words. Now, he has three sons and seven grand-sons – and no more Death Watch to answer to. There is talk of Iolar and Bodhi moving in with him, now that they’re family, but so far, it is only talk – there is much to think through.

“Your clan is… You have former Death Watch, and New Mandalorian, and your children are meant to be True Mandalorians. I never thought this would be possible.”  
“Isn’t it the way of the _Cin Vhetin_ , though?” Obi-Wan asks, and looks at his new buir.

Elath’s armour is painted blue, for reliability, and edged in white for a new beginning. Sathi made a new _aliik_ for him – for all of them, now that Obi-Wan is head of his clan, and not simply a Jedi. It evokes nothing to most people, but Obi-Wan is a scholar: of course he had to choose an obscure symbol. A plant, long disappeared – with only one meaning: unity.

“ _Buir_ ”, Obi-Wan calls, and Elath turns, Skira on his shoulders. “Don’t excite them too much please, or getting them to sleep will be a trial.”  
“I don’t want to sleep!” Naak protests, as if to prove his point, and Elath laughs.  
“You heard him! No sleeping tonight!” he replies, and Obi-Wan sighs and smiles.

Korkie is looking at the scene, a bit wide-eyed and confused – he now has an uncle and a grand-father, seemingly out of nowhere, who both want to teach him things, when he’s pretty sure they wouldn’t have hesitated to kill him some time ago. Obi-Wan reaches out and ruffles his hair.

“Why don’t you take Haat upstairs? He’s getting a bit overwhelmed”, Obi-Wan says gently. “He’ll like some calm around Bodhi.”  
“ _’lek, buir_ ”, Korkie replies, suspicious, and goes to find Haat.  
“Is something the matter?” Dahl asks in a low voice when Obi-Wan looks at his sons climbing up the stairs, Haat’s hand held tight in Korkie’s.

Obi-Wan sighs.

“Visions”, he replies. “Mine, Anakin’s, Haat’s, Iolar’s… I don’t know how much you follow what happens within the Republic but-” He shakes his head. “It looks like war is brewing. All of our visions show that.”  
“War… on Coruscant?” Dahl asks carefully.  
“A Galactic war”, Obi-Wan replies in a low voice. “The visions are becoming clearer and clearer, for all of us. As if, no matter what we do, this war will be.”

Dahl grimaces.

“Iolar sees…” Obi-Wan hesitates. “He sees slaughters. One, we are pretty sure is Galidraan. The other…” he sighs. “We don’t know, but it is non-fighters. Injured, elderly… and children. And another we are pretty sure are Tsukens. Absolutely everyone, even the guard animals.”  
“ _Haar’chak_ ”, Dahl curses. “Nothing more?”  
“…definitely linked to my sons”, Obi-Wan finally says, glancing at the _vod’ike_. “And that’s all I’ll say on the matter.”

In the end, the _vod’ike_ end up sleeping at Am and Dahl’s with Bodhi, while everyone else remains downstairs, spending the night of celebration together.

The day finally comes for Obi-Wan and Anakin to go meet with Clan Kesuti, which has a stronghold on Katraasii. Cal Kestis, having finally been brought up to date by Obi-Wan, is coming with them – a bag with his few belongings coming along, as no one is sure he will be allowed back to the Temple. Goodbyes with his friends were tearful, and despite initial anger at the idea of being torn away from the Jedi, he understood the situation he was in.

Their ship is hauled as soon as they get close to the planet, and they find themselves escorted to the landing area set up apart from the stronghold. The wind blows hard, and it must often do so, given the trees’ twisted shapes. Anakin ends up walking with Cal held in his arms, afraid that the child might just be blown away, light as he is. Four Mandalorians come up, clearly unfriendly, but not immediately aggressive. A fifth arrives quickly.

“We have no business with the Jedi”, they say curtly.  
“We come as Mandalorians”, Obi-Wan replies. “In peace, and with information for Rhytri Kesutis. You can tell them the _Ori’n’ijaat_ wishes to speak with them, along with Armourer Sathi Nott’s apprentice.”

There is a long silence as their interlocutor no doubt speaks over comms.

“And the child?” they finally ask.  
“He is the reason we are here.”  
“ _K’olar_. Try anything fishy and child or not, we kill you.”

The threat, they notice, is uniquely addressed to him and Anakin. They don’t disarm them, but they both keep their hands away from their weapons. Obi-Wan still holds blasters in contempt, but they make for effective dissuasion when worn openly, and Elath offered them as a _buir_ to their child. The Westars gleam ominously on his thighs. Anakin has less holdbacks and an acquired taste for them – but then, Anakin is an apprentice armourer. It wouldn’t do for him to walk around without even a blaster.

The stronghold is heavily fortified and clearly built to house Taungs. The ones who leave Stewjon are very rare, as they more often chose to stay and preserve their family line, but some do. The _Kesuti_ head of clan is one – elderly and close to death, but still defying odds and unwilling to let their power go too soon.

They are waiting for them, sitting on a high-backed chair clearly mimicking a throne with the rest of the clan gathered around them. An armoured figure is standing beside them.

“ _Ner ijaat, alor be’Kesuti aliit_”, Obi-Wan greets, removing his helmet, and Anakin imitates him.  
“Obi-Wan Kenobi”, they say slowly. “ _Ori’n’ijaat. Me’copaani?_ ”  
“My business is with one of your clansmen”, Obi-Wan replies. “Rhytri.”  
“ _Ni Rhytri_ ”, the armoured figure standing beside the Taung leader replies. “ _Ven’alor be Kesuti aliit._”  
“We recently discovered one of the Foundling within the Jedi Temple is of Stewjoni descent”, Obi-Wan starts. “Tests were done to confirm that, and we have every reason to believe this foundling to be the lost _Kal Kesuti_.”

The tension ratchets up, and Anakin slowly puts Cal down on his feet. The Initiate is trembling in fright, gulping, but still putting on a brave front.

“ _Baby-snatchers_ ”, someone growls.  
“That’s not true!” Cal replies, turning on them. “I was _Found_.”  
“ _Jetii_ ”, Rhytri growls in warning.  
“One of our Masters found him on Ord Mantell”, Anakin states. “Abandoned. The only clue we had to his name was a badly written note that was transcribed to Cal Kestis. We have many Foundlings, _kot’tigaanu_ or not, and until recently, no knowledge of Stewjon. We have come in peace, to right a wrong.”

There is a heavy silence, and then, Rhytri reach up and pull off their _buy’ce_. They are far younger than Anakin or Obi-Wan expected – a human in their mid-twenties, with short, red hair and a greenish complexion.

“ _Kal cuyi ner vod’ad_”, they declare. “Under my guard. And you say this boy is him?” The emotion is clear in their voice, made even more obvious by their thick accent, as they kneel slowly and hold their hands out to Cal. “ _K’olar, ad’ika_. Let me look at you.”

Cal takes trembling steps up to them, and Rhytri gently take his face between their hands, looking at him carefully and then taking a sniff in his neck. Their face melts into a large smile.

“Kal”, they breathe, overwhelming joy and relief pouring out of them into the Force, “ _ner ad’ika!”_

Gently they press their foreheads together, though Cal does look a little wrong-footed.

“Fear not”, Rhytri says. “Fear not, _ner kar’ta.Ni uresi gar._” They pull away to stand up and look back at Obi-Wan. “ _Vor entye, Jetii._ ”  
“ _N’entye_ ”, Obi-Wan replies.  
“I have heard many things about you, Jetiise”, the clan head speaks. “You have proved yourself honourable, by bringing back one of our children. It will not be forgotten.”  
“ _Sha’kajir_ ”, Rhytri says.

Their attention is diverted by Cal, who sniffles quietly beside them.

“I- I really have to stay?” he asks when they kneel again to ask what is wrong in hashed up Basic.  
“Here is _yaim_ ”, they reply. “Home”, they translate. “Your family.”  
“My home is on Coruscant”, Cal replies. “With my clan, a-and crèche-master Rhi. And- And I can’t be a Jedi here.”

Rhytri offers him a wobbly smile, their eyes full of tears.

“ _Ni suvari_”, they reply. “ _Gar aliit_.”

They press a kiss to his brow, their eyes closing painfully, fingers trembling around his shoulders. Slowly, they stand back up.

“ _Gar ba’juri kaysh_”, they say harshly.  
“You could come visit”, Anakin says, his face betraying nothing of his pounding heart. “Just because he comes with us, and trains to be a Jedi, doesn’t mean you can’t see him.”  
“You are my… _ba’vodu_. It means aunt, doesn’t it?” Cal says, wiping his tears. “I- I can train do be a Mandalorian Jedi”, he adds. “Padawan Skywalker said I could, if I swore to the _Resol’nare_.”  
“He wouldn’t be the only one”, Obi-Wan adds. “My sons are training to be both Mandalorians and Jedi. He is still an initiate, he could train with them, and my _aliit_ would teach him the Way.”

Rhytri turn to their _alor_ , who is looking at the scene.

“ _Ner ven’riduur tsikala_”, they say, pleading.  
“ _Slana, ner bu’ad. Kaysh aliit._”

There is murmuring all around them as Rhytri bow their head and turn back to Obi-Wan.

“I will come to Coruscant”, they declare, “and train Kal in our ways.”  
“We will do everything to make sure Cal gets the best training in both cultures”, Anakin says, bowing his head. “You will be welcome to Coruscant, _burc’ya_.”

The clan head then slowly rise to their feet, and all present stand straighter, paying attention.

“ _Jii’ca, mhi aala shereshoy: t’ad ka’ra be’dinuise_ ”, they declare. “ _Be’Kal’ika yaim’ol, bal be’Rhytri riduurok ti Gar, aliit Saxon, House Vizsla._” They look at Obi-Wan and Anakin. “You will be welcome here tonight, and until you leave with my grand-child and their… _vod’ad_. None of my clan shall harm you.”  
“ _Mhi vore, alor be’Kesuti_”, Obi-Wan replies.

He glances at Anakin. It cannot be a coincidence that the old Taung chose to celebrate the wedding between their grand-child and their fiancé after months, if not years, of them being promised to each other. This is likely a political alliance, far more than a love-match. _Mhi me’dinui an_. “We share all”. Does it mean that, while Rhytri is away on Coruscant, their riduur inherits their place as heir? Looking at the old Taung, it’s clear they don’t have much time left. At eighty-five, they have already exceeded life expectations for their species.

“ _Mhi dinu Kot be’dinui_ ”, he adds. “ _Vercopa Kot ti gar, bal gar bu’ad riduurok._”

The _alor_ grins – rows of sharp teeth, and Obi-Wan pushes back his instincts that tell him to grin back and bare his own teeth.

“ _Mhi vore gar dinui, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Vercopa mhi cuyi burc’ya._”

Obi-Wan shivers, the Force sort of… brushing against his skin, and through their bond, Anakin tells him he felt the same thing. Positive or negative, this was significant. Only time will tell how.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _aliik_ : sigil, symbol on armour.  
>  _haar'chak_ : damn it!  
>  _Ori'n'ijaat_ : the Great Shame.  
>  _K'olar_ : come.  
>  _Ner ijaat, alor be’Kesuti aliit_ : Well-met (lit: my honour), leader of clan Kesuti.  
>  _Me'copaani?_ : What do you want?  
>  _Ni Rhytri, ven’alor be Kesuti aliit._ : I'm Rhytri, heir to Clan Kesuti.  
>  _kot'tigaanu_ : Force-touched, ie. Force-Sensitive.  
>  _Kal cuyi ner vod’ad_ : Kal is/was my nephew.  
>  _K'olar, ad'ika_ : come, child.  
>  _ner ad'ika_ : my child (here, closer to "my little one").  
>  _ner kar'ta_ : my heart.  
>  _Ni uresi gar._ : I missed you (lit: I lacked you, I was without you).  
>  _Vor entye_ : Thank you (lit: **I accept a debt** ).  
>  _N'entye_ : No debt.  
>  _Sha'kajir_ : truce.  
>  _Ni suvari. Gar aliit._ : I understand. Your clan/family.  
>  _Gar ba’juri kaysh_ : You educate/take care of him.  
>  _alor_ : leader.  
>  _Ner ven'riduur tsikala_ : My fiancé (lit: future spouse) is ready.  
>  _Slana, ner bu’ad. Kaysh aliit._ : Go, my grand-child. He is family [too].  
>  _burc'ya_ : friend.  
>  _Jii’ca, mhi aala shereshoy: t’ad ka’ra be’dinuise: Be’Kal’ika yaim’ol, bal be’Rhytri riduurok ti Gar, aliit Saxon, House Vizsla._ : Tonight, we celebrate (lit: we feel lust for life, we seize the day): two blessings: Little Kal ‘s homecoming, and Rhytri’s wedding to Gar, clan Saxon, House Vizsla.  
>  _Mhi vore, alor be’Kesuti_ : We accept, leader of the Kesuti.  
>  _Mhi dinu Kot be’dinui. Vercopa Kot ti gar, bal gar bu’ad riduurok._ : We give the Force's blessing. May the Force be with you, and with your grandchild’s marriage.  
>  _Mhi vore gar dinui, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Vercopa mhi cuyi burc’ya._ : We accept your gift, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Maybe we can be friends.


	41. May the road be good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan despairs; Jango has decisions to take, and Quinlan ponders a barbecue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I'm sorry for the unexpected hiatus - if you haven't seen my updates on Tumblr or Discord, here is what happened: I scrambled to finish my Subobi Week fics in time, and therefore didn't have time for the chapter, and then I got sick, _before_ I could finish my fics for Subobi, meaning I scrambled even more. I'm finally feeling better enough though!  
> (And if you're wondering, no I didn't catch the plague but my lungs aren't thanking me either.)
> 
> A note: there are sentences in Mando'a towards the end that I haven't linked in translation, though it'll be available as usual. It is because the pov characters do not speak Mando'a.
> 
> *
> 
> CT-3381 / Skira, blind.  
> CT-3382 / Tracyn, deaf, blond, golden eyes.  
> CT-3383/ Runi, Nautolan.  
> CT-3384/ Naak, Togruta.  
> CT-3385/Haat, autistic.

The trip back to Coruscant is, thankfully, uneventful. The same cannot be said of the wedding, that Anakin found out the _alor_ expected him to perform, as an apprentice armourer. Mandalorian tradition shunned the need for someone to officiate a wedding, and only a witness was needed – and in some cases, not even this – but it was considered an honour and a blessing to be wed by an armourer, completely trained or not. Anakin, in Obi-Wan’s opinion, performed admirably: he married the two people who were supposed to be married, and didn’t accidentally tie himself to anyone, unlike someone else he knew.

The bride barely spent the night with her _riduur_ , however, up early to prepare for a long stay on the Republic’s capital. There is little love in Rhytri’s and Gar’s wedding, Obi-Wan is certain of that much. She is fiercely devoted to her clan and family, but in need of support, while he is opportunistic and, Obi-Wan doubts, unable to love anyone but himself. Cal has warmed up considerably to her upon learning that not only would he remain in the Temple, but that he would have Mandalorian family and training with her.

“- so I hope I will become a Padawan, when I’m old enough”, Cal says, and his aunt listens and nods, asking him to clarify things she doesn’t understand.

The language barrier and the cultural one aren’t making this easy on her, but she isn’t ashamed to ask for what she doesn’t understand. Not when it will help her take care of Cal.

“And the- _kad’au_ ”, she says. “You own one yet?”  
“Lightsabre”, Anakin calls over his shoulder. “In a year or two, I expect.”  
“Lightsabre”, she repeats, committing the word to memory. “Is it knowledge only permitted to the Jedi? The building of a lightsabre?”

Anakin sits down next to her, legs crossed as he can in his _beskar’gam._

“It is a complicated matter”, he replies. “Technically speaking, it isn’t illegal for a non-Jedi to own a lightsabre. Impersonating a Jedi is a grave offence, however, and the knowledge of how a lightsabre is built is strictly guarded, like beskar working is. So, there is actually little chance of a non-Jedi legally owning a lightsabre. If it is an old one, then by archaeological right, it is the property of the Jedi Order, unless a living descendant of the original owner can be found. Considering most Jedi never sire children, it would be extremely rare. A more recent one would either have to be plundered from the dead, or made from a stolen kyber.”  
“And yet our people bear the lightsabres of those defeated in battle”, Rhytri points out.  
“There aren’t many who are still capable of killing a Jedi and taking their ‘sabre, and many who owned one they had inherited have laid it down out of respect for us.” He takes a breath. “A lightsabre is a Jedi’s life. An enemy displaying it is akin to wearing stolen _beskar’gam_ , or displaying it. Many decided to consider it a dishonourable practice, and talks have been entered with the Order to decide what must be done with those. Some bearers, being Force-Sensitive, have managed to attune themselves to the crystals.”  
“If you cannot inherit a lightsabre, what do you do with the dead’s, then?” Rhytri asks, confused.  
“It is stripped for parts, if it can be. As to the crystals, only Masters of the Order know what is done with them.”  
“Similar to how _beskar’gam_ is reforged, then”, Rhytri mutters. “What of the Darksabre? It designates our leader, yet it is a Jedi weapon.”  
“You ask the complicated questions”, Anakin groans. “The Darksabre is a relic, technically stolen from the Temple. However, by inheritance, it would belong to House Viszla. Its cultural significance is important too, but to this day, no one knows where the Darksabre is. It was lost with Tor Viszla, its last wielder.”

Rhytri makes a complicated face.

“The _Mand’alor_ still wields it”, she replies. “It is not lost.”

By _Mand’alor_ , Anakin assumes she means whoever took control of Death Watch after Tor Vizsla’s… passing. He doesn’t find it reassuring, that such a powerful weapon is in ill-intentioned hands.

“Either way”, he resumes, “the Order renounced its claim to the Darksabre centuries ago, so it could only be recognized as a symbol for Mandalore. Unless the current owner, being of Vizsla descent or having won it by combat, renounces it and all its significance to Mandalore to hand it over to the Order. This one is the only lightsabre that can be legally owned by a non-Jedi.” He spreads his hands. “If the Darksabre wound up in the Order’s care by any other means, we would be duty-bound to return it to the current head of Clan Vizsla, in the absence of a clearly defined _Mand’alor_.”

She looks at him thoughtfully.

“I would have thought you’d say the Order is duty bound to hand it back to the _dar’manda_ Duchess sitting on the throne in Sundari.”  
“She renounced the title of _Mand’alor_ ”, he points out, and his lips quirk up. “I don’t speak much legalese, but she effectively renounced the Darksabre in doing so.”

She grins, showing wickedly pointed teeth, and Anakin manages not to flinch away. He decides that it is a good thing. Rhytri has opened her mind to the Jedi, if only for her nephew’s sake.

The trip back to Coruscant is uneventful – at least, that’s how Obi-Wan will word it in his report. And, technically, it _is_. There is no attack, no rescue of a ship in distress, nothing to stop them on their way.

“Must I beg you to think of _all_ consequences before you act?” Obi-Wan hisses quietly behind the closed door of his quarters. “Please stop flirting with the Stewjoni envoy. And for Force’s sake, stop bedding every pretty sentient that comes your way.”

Anakin opens his mouth to reply, and closes it. He has the grace to blush.

“Uh. Might be too late for that.”

Obi-Wan pinches his nose.

“Tell me you didn’t.”  
“You asked me to stop lying to you!”  
“Well I’m reconsidering that”, Obi-Wan retorts. “She’s the heir of a powerful clan!”  
“Yes.”  
“You officiated her wedding!”  
“Did you expect me to shove her out of my bed?” Anakin replies, crossing his arms. “I’m not stupid enough to try to fight a Mandalorian when I’m not wearing much more than my skins.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s just sex, Obi-Wan. Neither of us expects or wants more from it. You can relax. Besides, you’ve seen Gar too. I’m definitely the better option.”  
“I swear you’re trying to kill me.”  
“Well usually I try to be polite and take it elsewhere, but considering we’re in hyperspace…”  
“Don’t say a word more. I might actually strangle you.”

Anakin, wisely, remains silent, but is proud smirk doesn’t fool anyone. Obi-Wan sighs wearily, the fight gone out of him.

“If you’re not more careful, you’ll end up with your DNA scattered around the galaxy”, Obi-Wan finally says.  
“You say that like it’s a bad thing. I’ll have you know I’m a delight to have around.”  
“If this comes back to bite you in the _shebs_ , I reserve the right to say ‘I told you so’.”

Other than that, thankfully, the trip is uneventful. Quadrants away, another trip is just as uneventful – this time, _really_ uneventful. Am has information to gather and to share, along with small-time bounty missions. Meeting up with Jango in a station and giving him some news and a datachip about the _Vod’ike_ is just part of the trip.

“ _Ka’ra_ they’re amazing”, Wad’e says, his eyes shining as they watch one of the holovids together.

The five little clones are visibly inside the Jedi Temple. How Am got this video is a mystery, but Jango and Wad’e are internally grateful to finally see their faces. They are wearing Jedi tunics as they go through Mandalorian katas, following the lead of Kenobi’s Padawan. He has grown into his own too, and watching him move, Jango is not surprised he is training to be an armourer. Well, he no longer is. He nearly had a heart attack when Am told him.

“Haat… really looks like the others”, Wad’e remarks, and Jango immediately knows what he means by _others_.

And it’s true. He wears his hair cut like the Cadets, and he has this expression of intense focus that the other _vod’ike_ apparently can’t quite match. Skira’s hair is a surprise – Jango always found long hair unpractical before Galidraan, and after… well, he has worn his hair long and matted for long enough. It fits the boy, however. Tracyn’s hair darkened with age, no longer the wheat blond it was at decantation, but a darker, solar blond that illuminates his face. It makes him look a lot like CT-7567, though a lot younger. That one is already a teenager, and Jango is really considering pulling him from standard training and into the command track.

Naak and Runi are harder to pinpoint as clones, given their alien DNA, but they are no less beautiful or graceful for it. Jango is proud, even though he knows he has nothing to do with how amazing they all are. Suddenly, all five children fall out of position.

_“Buir!”_ , they call, and run out of the frame, which tries to follow them.

Obi-Wan Kenobi crouches and the children almost bowl him over, hugging him tight and screeching like they haven’t seen him in a while. The person holding the camera laughs, and hands it over, before walking into the frame. Wad’e squints his eyes.

“There’s a sixth one? _Osik_ , he looks like a carbon-copy of Kenobi!”  
“That’s Korkie Kryze”, Jango replies dryly. “And, yeah, he’s Kenobi’s too.”

Wad’e stares at him.

“You’re shitting me, right?”  
“I wish”, Jango sighs. “Turns out little Obi-Wan didn’t just _protect_ the Duchess and Korkie happened. He’s a Kenobi, now.” He pauses the video. “Kenobi and Skywalker both swore to the _Resol’nare_. He’s Clan Head, now.”  
“Clan Kenobi? With Skywalker and the _vod’ike?”_  
“Not just them”, Jango grimaces. “Isabet’s twin was disowned, and Kenobi took him in. Word is he’s a Seer and a _buir_ now, so that’s two more.” He grimaces. “Shit, I’m not looking forward to telling her that.” He waves his hand. “And then, there’s the other… Elath Wren. Well, it’s Kenobi now. He adopted Kenobi, Reau and Skywalker.”

Wad’e whistles.

“That’s one hell of clan. I’m not sure how we should take it that he adopted two hailing from Death Watch, though. You think he’s slipping?”

Jango shakes his head.

“No. He’d be firmly one of ours, if House Mereel still existed. If anything, it’s the two others who changed their allegiances. Elath has always been on the brink since his boy died. Iolar was going mad with his visions. It seems Kenobi saved his life, and he’s been doing a lot better since he moved to the Jedi Temple. Which… is not something I ever expected to say.”

Wad’e grits his teeth, and breathes out slowly.

“It still exists. We’d rally behind you again. You know we would. You’re still our _Mand’alor_.”

Jango gives him a long look.

“Is it wishful thinking? Or are you sincere?”  
“I haven’t been out of these walls in close to eight years”, Wad’e says carefully, “but it was true when I left, and from what you told me, there are many who would rally behind you who didn’t before.”

Jango takes a long, long time before answering.

“I want the _Haat Mando’ade_ back”, he finally says. “I want to do well by our people. I’ve left them drifting without a _Mand’alor_ for far too long. I swear sometimes it’s like my _buir_ is asking how I dare leave them after unwittingly starting such a change.”

Wad’e gives him a Look.

“ _Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la_”, he says. “Your _buir_ is stubborn enough that I would hardly be surprised if he marched back here to knock some sense into your head.”

That makes Jango snort.

“He would”, he replies fondly. “He… wouldn’t be very proud of me”, he adds with a wince.  
“About abandoning your place as _Mand’alor?_ Or getting yourself cloned to get back at the Jedi?” Wad’e crosses his arms. “Yes, you fucked up. Badly. But you’re not beyond saving, Jango. You’re not beyond making your way back. There’s no one else to unite us like you and your buir once did. _Rangir!_ You’ve already started. The modified training you’ve implemented? Letting us teach the _Resol’nare_ to the Cadets, giving them names even- Blast, you know I’d give my little ones a soul if I could.”  
“They belong to the Jedi. I’m sure they’d let you do it. You just need to be patient.”

Wad’e smiles.

“I’ve seen the way you look at _Kote_. He’s gonna be a Fett as soon as you can get away with it, isn’t he?”  
“I haven’t exactly been subtle about it”, Jango points out. “There’s something- Well. He’ll be my son, just as much as Boba is.”

“I never expected you to look so happy surrounded by children”, Siri laughs, picking up one of the tubbies reaching out for her.

Quinlan grimaces, one toddler perched on his shoulders, another in his arms, a third hanging onto his leg.

“You think I look happy?” he says, and she snorts.  
“Quin, you’re glowing in the Force. You love the little buggers, don’t you even dare to deny it.”  
“They are very lovable”, Quinlan replies primly. “And, unlike your charges, they were slated for decommission. Meaning they’re mine.”  
“Stop channelling Obi-Wan. It doesn’t work”, she replies, swaying the baby in her arms like she was taught as a Padawan, while on crèche-duty. “And unlike him, I never pictured you as a dad. Suits you, though.”

Quinlan grins and blows a raspberry on one of the babies’ belly. He’s been meaning to name them, only to realize he has no idea how one is supposed to go to name a baby. The Jedi tradition for foundlings is of composed names, but they were not _found_. Not exactly. They are his sons, if he can get away with it. He and Siri are both trained for infiltration, but this is different. They don’t have to pretend to be something they aren’t, and somehow it’s further blurring the differences. The more he learns about Mandalorians, the more he understands what attracted Obi-Wan to the culture. What pushed him to, apparently, _become_ Mandalorian.

The Force-sensitive babies under his care deserve to have that heritage, and for now, they’re in the perfect place for that, with the freaking _Mand’alor_ himself there. It was harder to swallow the pill that those little boys were trained to become soldiers loyal to the Republic, and so brainwashed they wouldn’t hesitate to eliminate the Jedi Order if ordered to. _That_ hadn’t been a comfortable conversation at all, and Quinlan had had choice words for that bantha fodder Jango who thought he could get away with pretending he was married to his best friend.

“Quin! Quin look!” a voice calls, distracting him, and Quinlan turns around.

Boba saunters up to him, holding his forearms up with a large grin. Said forearms are wrapped in white plastoid vambraces, the same as the Cadets wear for training – except that by the time they turn eight, they’re already wearing most of it for physical training. They receive heavier, harder sets later – or at least, that’s how things are planned. None are old enough yet for the “white shells”, as the trainers call them.

“Wow! You got your first bit of armour!” Quinlan congratulates him, examining the vambraces like it’s the first time he sees them when Boba holds them under his nose.  
“ _’lek!_ For my Life Day!” Boba replies eagerly. “Did you see, Siri? I’m grown now! _Buir_ said training would start officially!”

Boba is, of course, already trained in the basics – but eight is when Jango considers he is grown enough to go through a thorough weapon training. Younger children aren’t quite aware of danger enough for such a thing. Quinlan’s swarm of toddlers leave him to gather around Boba and babble, touching his vambraces and looking at him with bright, wide eyes.

“It’s _kom’rk_ ”, Boba enunciates slowly, carefully, getting bubbles and spit in reply. “Like _Kom’rk ori’vod_.”

The Nulls are weary around Boba, but never treat him unkindly, and he’s become the mascot of the clone commanders.

_“Tug’yc ti Jetiise_ , Boba?” a voice asks, and Boba freezes, almost shrinking onto himself, and Quinlan tenses.

Dred Priest wears a sneer, like always, and the Force is slimy around him. It is a euphemism to say Quinlan and Siri don’t like him, but the kids are right down _terrified_ of him – even little Boba, who has far more freedom than the others.

_“Siri bal Quin cuyi ner burc’ya!”_ , Boba declares forcefully, his little fists trembling.  
_“Jetiise cuyi aru’e, draar buyr’cya”_ , Priest spits, and Quinlan dearly wishes he knew more Mando’a.

As it is, he barely understands his own name and _Jetiise_.

“You know, it’s very rude to speak publicly a language other people don’t understand”, Siri says, her tone mild but Force-presence brimming with fury.

Dred grins, and Quinlan feels his stomach clench in apprehension, the little ones huddling around him. He eyes the baby in Siri’s arms warily.

“I have nothing to say to a Jedi whore”, Dred enunciates in a heavily accented Basic, before spitting at her feet.

For a second, Quinlan sees the moment Siri will jump on him and tear him to pieces. Which, honestly, would be deserved, if his feeling in the Force is anything to go by. However, this would seriously jeopardize their presence on Kamino – and also, well, _the kids_.

“This, kiddos, is how you should never act”, Siri says, ostensibly turning her back on him, and Quinlan wants to shake her for such a move. “Unless you want to be called a meanie with bad manners, of course.”

The toddlers, hilariously, all nod as seriously as they can, and Priest’s expression would be hilarious if Quinlan wasn’t so scared for their lives.

“Boba”, he snaps again.

Boba’s reply is to stick his tongue out to him. Quinlan watches his expression shift and, in a matter of seconds, he has his arms free, Boba behind him, and his lightsabre ignited in his hand, held at Priest’s throat.

“You’d better leave Boba alone”, he warns. “Him, and any of the clones who are not under your charge. For you, I wouldn’t mind following our ancestor’s way and skewer you.”

He feels Siri’s attention snap back to him and oh, oh she’s going to give him shit for that, for treading so close to the Dark. Priest, at least, is not stupid enough to not back down.

“This is not over, _Jetii_.”

Priest gives him one last look, and then does the same with Boba, who holds it even though Quinlan can feel his fear, and slowly backs out of the room. Quinlan is brimming with tension and it takes him entirely too long to sheathe back his ‘sabre.

“Can you keep an eye on the babies, Boba?” Siri asks gently, and Boba nods with a proud grin, showing where he’s missing some teeth.  
“I’m grown now!”  
“You are”, Siri nods back, and tilts her head at Quinlan. “Come meditate with me.”

Quinlan takes a deep breath. Meditate. Yes. Right. Good idea.

Not as satisfying as a Priest skewer, but he’ll take it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _shebs_ : ass.  
>  _Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la_ : Not gone, merely marching far away.  
>  _Rangir!_ : to hell with it!  
>  _Kom'rk ori'vod_ : big brother Kom'rk.  
>  _Tug’yc ti Jetiise, Boba?_ : Again with the Jedi, Boba?  
>  _“Siri bal Quin cuyi ner burc’ya!”_ : Siri and Quinlan are my friends!  
>  _“Jetiise cuyi aru’e, draar buyr’cya”_ : The Jedi are enemies, never friends.
> 
> 14/02/20 EDIT: there is now the explicit encounter between Rhytri and Anakin. You can find it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29426406)


	42. The Treasure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are things in the vaults, that must return to their rightful owners.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is long and very Anakin-centric in the end.  
> !! There are references to The Mandalorian s2 in this chapter, though nothing that qualifies as spoiler.  
> Also: While this story is tagged as mature, I don't intend to have anything more explicit than some making-out in this. It will all be in side-stories and tagged appropriately, as you maybe already noticed.
> 
> *
> 
> CT-3381 / Skira, blind.  
> CT-3382 / Tracyn, deaf, blond, golden eyes.  
> CT-3383/ Runi, Nautolan.  
> CT-3384/ Naak, Togruta.  
> CT-3385/Haat, autistic.

“You asked for me, Masters?” Anakin asks after bowing at the Council.

He doesn’t yet know why he was summoned in front of the High Council – and this, without Obi-wan. His question isn’t really whether they asked for him – they did – but what they want from him. He cannot think of anything happening recently that would warrant their attention. It’s been several weeks now since he came back from Katraasii with Cal, Rhytri and Obi-Wan. As far as he knows, the Mandalorian _ven’alor_ has settled in Little Manda’yaim and, while she spends most of her time with Death Watch, she has been seen speaking peacefully with Old Clans and former True Mandalorians. She has Cal with her for lessons several times a week, teaching him Mando’a and hand-to-hand, along with their culture, and Cal loves her dearly.

The _Vod’ike_ have been progressing steadily, as they did from the start, and they are excellent students. The Masters teaching them have nothing but glowing praise for them, and they tie up modules thrice as fast as younglings usually do. It would be scary, if it hadn’t been a trend in everything they do. Anakin still leads them into meditation once a day, and he can’t deny the effect it has on him too, helping him focus.

Maybe, he muses, it is about his latest invitation from the Chancellor. He never voiced his concerns, no wanting to unduly taint the man’s reputation in the Council’s eyes, but if he noticed… well, it is likely they did too. He wouldn’t be proud to admit he lied to the man, but he felt that the conversation often veered towards subjects that were far too personal for him to be comfortable with. Yes, the Chancellor has been a mentor when he was still a child, but his inquiries into his personal life bordered on uncivil. He could have deflected, of course, but he is sure it would have further strained his relationship with the most powerful man in the sector – so, he lied.

“Your advice, this Council needs”, Master Yoda declares outright, flooring him.

“With all due respect, Masters, I am merely a Padawan. Surely…”

“Your status as apprentice armourer motivated our decision”, Master Windu interrupts him. “Along with your handling of the issue with Initiate Cal Kestis. You proved yourself thoughtful and capable of maturity in your actions.”

Anakin opens his mouth, closes it.

“Thank you, Masters”, he finally replies. “I will do my best to help you.”

“As you may know, this Temple holds countless artefacts of historical importance. Most are linked to our history, but not all. Its precise contents are only known to Masters of the Order, to avoid rumours and avidity. Some would hold a great monetary value, but their historical one is greater still”, Master Tiin says.

“This Council has been discussing what should be done about the Mandalorians items we possess, accumulated during the Wars”, Master Rancisis continues. “Normally, they should have been returned to the Mandalorian people. However, first enmity and then civil unrest led us to hold onto them until now. We would like to return those as a gesture of good will.”

“And in the absence of a _Mand’alor_ , you can’t exactly do that”, Anakin completes, gathering where they’re coming from. “If I may ask, Masters… why weren’t those given to Duchess Kryze? She is the Republic-backed leader of Mandalore.”

“Concerns, there were, about her actions”, Master Yoda replies. “Proud of holding back, we are not, but glad we did, we are. Destroyed, those priceless artefacts would have been. Important, history is. Force-imbued, many Mandalorian-made objects are.”

Anakin nods. Given all the things the New Mandalorians destroyed… so much history was lost already, he is glad some of it was safe-guarded here, in the Temple.

“I can tell you we would dearly welcome those artifacts back”, Anakin finally replies, “and such a move would assuredly improve the Order’s relationship with the Mandalorian people. But as we just said, they wouldn’t be safe on Mandalore, and the Diaspora, as far as I know, doesn’t have a safe place to guard those. And who even to trust with such things? Death Watch? The Old Clans?” He shakes his head. “The _Mand’alor_ would be the only one authorized to take such a decision, and I don’t know enough yet to give you advice, aside from telling you this is a matter you should discuss with Armourer Sathi Nott.”

Master Windu nods.

“This is what we thought would happen. Thank you, Padawan Skywalker.”

Anakin bows, and sees himself out, reeling with the new knowledge of how much of Mandalorian history may be enclosed in those walls. Two days later, he is back, guiding Sathi to the Council Tower, for a very similar conversation. Sathi, though, remains silent for a long while.

“What kind of items are we talking about? If it is possible, I would like to examine them.”

“ _Mand’alor_ Tarre Vizsla’s _beskar’gam_ , we have in our vaults”, Master Yoda replies. “And pieces of armour made of mythosaur bones, amongst many others. See them, you may. Accompany you, Master Nu will.”

Sathi has stilled completely.

“I cannot take any decision about such things myself”, they finally said. “ _Beskar’gam_ is typically melted down and reforged, generation after generation. However, you and I understand the historical value of an armour such as Tarre Vizsla’s. I cannot decide whether to melt it or not by myself, especially as I am not of Vizsla descent. I will summon the Council of the Three, so we may come to a decision.” They bow their head. “I thank you, in the name of our people, for safe-guarding and returning such treasures to us.”

Anakin waits until they are out to turn to them.

“The Council of the Three? I thought it hadn’t been gathered in-”

“Since the last Jedi-Mandalorian War”, Sathi answers gravely. “You will, of course, be present for our gatherings, though you may not speak.”

“I understand”, Anakin replies in the same tone. “It is… unexpected.”

Sathi tilt their head.

“Tell me what you remember about the Council of the Three”, they say, and he nearly groans.

He still hates quizzes, but he knows how important this is, and gathers what he knows.

“It is a nickname given to the Armourers’ Council”, he starts with. “All completely trained armourers are part of this council, and they only gather and take decisions for Mandalore when there isn’t a _Mand’alor_ to do so. They are guided by the Manda and the _ka’ra_ , like the _Mand’alor_ is.”

Sathi nods.

“ _Jate_. And how many sit on this Council?”

“Thirty-three armourers”, Anakin replies, “and their apprentices.” He glances at them. “You never told me how many apprentices there were, beside me.”

“You know there are no strict rules about picking an apprentice, aside from only one at a time”, Sathi resumes. “Our choices are guided by the _ka’ra_.”

“I know there was another before me”, Anakin says, and feels Sathi stiffen.

“There was”, Sathi replies. “I never was a _buir_ , but my- _she_ was like a sister to me”, Sathi replies, their voice heavy with emotion. “Do not think it is lack of respect that I keep her name a secret. Children of the Watch never share theirs outside of their clan, and I will not disrespect her now.”

“You miss her”, Anakin says quietly. “What happened?”

“She wasn’t much older than you”, Sathi says, “and still new in her apprenticeship, when she joined _Mand’alor_ Mereel’s _Haat Mando’ade_.” They pause, and Anakin stills as well, listening intently. “She died at Galidraan, fighting beside Jango Fett. Had she survived the first seconds of the battle, surely fate would have been different. But she didn’t.”

Heavy grief pours from Sathi, and Anakin gently presses his forehead to their _buy’ce_.

“ _Ni ceta_”, he says quietly.

They lift a hand and pat his head, even though they are of similar height. They take a moment to breathe together, and no one bothers them.

“I haven’t heard of the Children of the Watch”, he says after a moment. “Who are they?”

“ _Mando’ade_ who follow most of the old ways, but have no desire to go back to days of conquering and disagree with most of Death Watch’s practices. Mereel gained their support in his time as _Mand’alor_ , but Jango Fett never managed to strike the same alliance in his time. They disapproved of his taking the mantel up when he was still so young, and grieved by the loss of another _buir_. They also didn’t like that he was the son of the previous _Mand’alor_. While Fett was qualified to be _Mand’alor_ , they felt that allowing such a precedent would lead us to become a monarchy, rather than the meritocracy we are.”

“…They don’t approve with the duchy and how it is inherited, do they?” Anakin asks. “I know there is a vote, but-”

“Those are Kelevalan practices”, Sathi confirms, “not the old ways of our people. Children of the Watch would never bow to the New Mandalorians, and as a result, they were chased mercilessly. The Way is strict, and harsh.” They pause. “Listen well: When one chooses to walk the way of the Mandalore, you are both hunter and prey”, they quote. “No one can follow the way and be a coward. This is the Way.” They pause another time. “There aren’t many left of them, and they guard themselves strictly, but should you have the honour of meeting one of them, you should know never to ask for their name, nor for their face.”

“You don’t remove your helmet either”, Anakin remarks. “Not in front of others.”

“One of my ancestors married a Child of the Watch, many centuries ago. Our clan adopted the practice, and we find ourselves protected thanks to it, but it is not the Way. If I took my helmet off now, I would still be Mandalorian, and part of my clan. I could still put it on again. For Children of the Watch, a _buy’ce_ is the face of Manda, and they show that they follow its will by never showing their own face.” They pause, searching for their words. “They forget themselves, to be completely part of the Manda. My clan isn’t so dedicated.”

Anakin tilts his head.

“It reminds me of the hermit Jedi Masters, in a way”, he says. “We all follow the will of the Force”, he explains, “and dedicate our lives to it, but we retain an individuality. These Masters… they become part of the Force, to a point where it is said that some of them achieved dematerialization, and re-joined the Force without dying.”

“I see the similarities”, Sathi nods. “Now, I have no wish to remain in this Temple longer than necessary. Show me the way to your vaults, apprentice.”

Anakin grins and chuckles, resuming their walk to where Master Nu is waiting for them. The librarian is more than happy to show them the relics held within the vaults, and while she bemoans losing such a treasure of knowledge and beauty, she is delighted that they will return to their rightful owners. The light is kept dim inside the vault, and both Mandalorians use their helmets’ lights to move around.

“Here are several pieces of armour, made from mythosaur bones”, Master Nu says. “From what we know, they come from several armours, not just one. The size and fitting of the pieces let us believe that they were made for Taungs, but we don’t know who might have owned them.”

“You don’t know?” Anakin asks in surprise, carefully picking up a vambrace. “This one belonged to someone named Nar’Dral”, he says, his bare fingers skimming along the vambrace. “They led their troops to glory”, he adds, sounding far away, “until they marched away.”

“Anakin?” Sathi asks, concerned, when he remains unmoving, staring off into space.

He shakes himself and puts the vambrace down.

“You never had a Jedi with a gift in psychometry take a look at these?” he asks, curious. “It is not a gift I possess, but there is a strongly imbued Force-presence there.”

Master Nu shakes her head.

“Weapons and armours are not objects someone with psychometry is made to touch. We actively discourage it, even, as it is easy for them to get caught up in memories, strong enough to still be felt centuries later.”

It makes sense, Anakin muses, looking back at the vambrace. For a second, he felt as though he _was_ Nar’Dral, offering this very piece of armour to a mate who rejected them. The fury and grief held there have lost some power with time, but they must have been immense, to still be there.

“They have an immense historical value, but as armour…”

Sathi nods.

“Yes, bone cannot be melted like _beskar_. Only a Taung of similar stature could wear them. Still, look at the craftmanship”, they say, picking up a pauldron. “The paint is long faded, but-”

“It’s gorgeous”, Anakin breathes, looking at the delicate engravings in the bone.

It is hundreds of hours of work in a single piece – it speaks of dedication, or of immense wealth. Anakin leans towards the first, drinking in the sight and sighing with want. This is the kind of work he hopes to make one day. He understands better, now, why an apprentice’s craft starts with jewellery, even before armour.

There are _bes’kade_ , some gleaming and sharp, others so old that they look about to fall into dust. The tapestries surprise him, though there aren’t many of them, but he feels Sathi’s emotion at the sight of them.

“Those are- oh, _ka’ra_ , those are Ereel’s lost tapestries”, they say, reaching out for them and snatching their hands back as though burnt. “We thought them lost forever…”

It is a story Anakin hasn’t heard yet, but he’s pretty sure it’ll be the next one Sathi tells him. He finds himself impatient for his next lesson, eager to learn more, to know more about those who came before him and crafted such beauties. He isn’t big on tapestries, of course, but even he can tell there is nearly a lifetime of work into those, considering how large they are, how delicate, how _precise_ , thrumming with life, the colours still bold and bright. The depictions are, maybe, a bit too _bloody_ , but not all of them are of war, and he finds himself staring at the representation of a _riduurok_.

There is much, much more than expected in the vaults, and half would belong in a museum – or, far better, in the palace where the _Mand’alor_ is meant to reside. This is beauty that should be shown, to make all _Mando’ade_ proud and impress visitors and allies – not kept hidden like this. He has been told of Sundari, of its glass domes and artworks, and while he recognizes the beauty… it is not _Mando’ad_ craftmanship. It is Kelevalan, at best – watered down and soulless, all the fire taken from it and smothered. There is passion, in the work of Mandalorians, that leaves his blood thrumming in his veins. _Shereshoy_, in its purest state, so heavy he can almost taste it on his tongue.

He’s almost dizzy with it, when they make it to the last stand, the central piece. Tarre Vizsla’s armour. Entire, intact, and though cared for- not as it ought to be. His fingers itch to take the pieces and polish them with reverence and respect, make them gleam, and touch up the paint so it is as vibrant as it ought to be. There is even still a stand, where the Darksabre laid before Clan Vizsla stole it back. The green paint is chipped in place, and there is carbon scoring over it. Black designs half-faded catch his attention, and he can feel, beside him, Sathi’s awe.

“From what we can tell”, Master Nu says, “this armour is made of mixed cortosis and beskar. We don’t know whether it is a third alloy, or the way the two were melded together, that grants the pieces such flexibility, but they are clearly adapted for a Master of Form I.”

_It is not my armour_ , a voice whispers, and Anakin whirls on his heels, his eyes wide.

“What?”

_It is not my armour_ , the voice whispers again, sounding amused. _Mine was melted, so this one could be forged. The dead have no need for beskar’gam._

It’s been so long since he heard Tarre Vizsla speak from within the _ka’ra_ , he almost doesn’t recognize him. It’s a relief to hear him, after all this time.

“So… who is it, if it’s not yours?” he asks, and both Sathi and Master Nu are staring at him.

Right, it probably looks like he’s talking to empty space. He’ll just have to deal with it later.

_It was my padawan’s_ , Tarre answers, but that brings so many questions, the first being – why isn’t there a Mandalorian Force tradition, then? Why are their children dying, lost to the Force?

“Your Padawan’s? But-”

_They marched away before I could knight them_ , Tarre replies. _There was no other. I couldn’t raise another after losing them. My lineage ended with me._

“Padawan Skywalker? Are you alright?”

Anakin blinks, but Tarre’s presence has faded, and there is no way to tell when he’ll feel him again. His voice was really weak on the last words, and Anakin doesn’t know whether it was because of emotion, or because he didn’t have enough strength.

“I’m fine”, he replies. “The armour itself isn’t Tarre Vizsla’s actually”, he says, “but it was melted down from his own.”

“And what makes you say that?” Sathi asks, curious. “For all intents and purposes, Tarre Vizsla’s _beskar’gam_ was lost until now.”

“Because he just told me so”, Anakin replies, and he feels Sathi come to a stall in the Force… before moving on, accepting it as “more Force _osik_ ”, as they put it. “This one was his Padawan’s, forged from his.” He tilts his head. “I don’t know why he would have done so… Wouldn’t it have been easier to make a new armour?”

Sathi crosses their arms.

“There are legends about the _beskar’gam_ of those Force-touched, especially Force-users. It is said that these _beskar’game_ will grant additional protection to the one wearing them, and in the past, it wasn’t uncommon for a Force-touched _buir_ to have their _beskar’gam_ melted down to make their _ade_ ’s. They would get a new one, which could also be melted if needed.” They turn to look at the _beskar’gam_ in front of them. “I don’t know how much of this is legend, but if there is truth in it, I wouldn’t be surprised if the sole _Jetii Mando’ad_ we ever had did such a thing.”

Anakin is pretty sure he can feel Master Nu’s eyes drilling holes into his back – he’s in for an interrogation about all the things he just _knows_ that years of research didn’t yield. It’s not his fault the _ka’ra_ speak to Force-sensitive Mandalorians.

Sathi turns to Master Nu.

“ _Vor’e, baju’ad_ Nu. Our people will appreciate to get such a treasure back.”

“It is the least we could do”, Master Nu replies. “Padawan Skywalker will escort you back.”

Anakin waits until they are out of the vault to ask how long it will take for the Council to gather.

“In the best case? A month”, Sathi replies. “We are scattered all around the galaxy, and I know of at least one of us who went into the Unknown Regions. They can be reached, but… Well. It’ll be a long wait, until we all are reunited.”

Anakin nods. He’ll have to be patient, then. Not exactly his strong suit, but he’ll do his best.

“Going out?” Obi-Wan asks just as he starts pulling food out to make dinner.

Anakin adjusts his pauldron, and Obi-Wan pauses, looking him over. His armour is shining, his haircut just refreshed, Padawan braid carefully done. Obi-Wan lifts an eyebrow.

“I’m grabbing dinner with Korkie and Padmé”, he says, and blushes lightly. “I haven’t seen her in person since…”

“Since that disaster, yes”, Obi-Wan replies, and strokes his beard. “She is a good mentor for Korkie.”

“She is”, Anakin replies eagerly, his eyes lighting up, and Obi-Wan resists the urge to sigh.

“Is that dinner in the senate?” he asks, concerned.

“In her office, yes. I’m bringing take-over for everyone, they have a huge project they want to finish tonight, and with Korkie having a curfew… there’s no time to lose.”

“Be mindful of the spice”, Obi-Wan reminds him. “Do you have an escort?”

“It’s just dinner-”

“Last time was just tea”, Obi-Wan states firmly. “Council orders, Anakin.” His expression softens when Anakin pouts. “I don’t want to ever be scared again like that night, Anakin. Please, obey that order and take and escort.”

Anakin relents with a sigh, and nods.

“Alright, I’ll get someone to come with me in Little Manda’yaim.”

Obi-Wan smiles, and waves him on.

“Have a nice evening, then. Send a comm if you stay out all night.”

Nearly an hour later, Anakin has Elath in the speeder with him and enough food to feed an army, with different levels of spice. The older Mandalorian doesn’t exactly like being in the Senate, but spending time with his son and grand-son is enough to get him there – especially as he knows how enthusiast Anakin gets about Padmé. He’s been waiting to meet her, but Senators are busy and he knows he’s no one to her.

At this hour, the Senate is already mostly empty, people wrapping things up to go back home, have dinner and spend time with their friends or family. Padmé’s office is relatively quiet, but they can hear voices as they come close: she has several aides on the problem, amongst which Korkie.

“Food is here!” Anakin announces loudly, and all heads snap up to him.

“It smells good”, one says.

“Oh, where did you get this?”

“I’m starving!”

“Please tell me you thought to keep the spice-level mild”, Korkie whispers when Anakin hands him one of the boxes.

“Contrary to popular belief, I’m not an idiot”, Anakin retorts, grinning. “Don’t worry, I thought about it. I got some spicier samples for the most adventurous.”

It is totally a coincidence he finds himself sitting next to Padmé as she eats her meal with quiet delight. Her handmaidens and aides seem as equally conquered, which makes him preen a bit.

“It’s really good”, Padmé declares with a smile, and maybe his heart skips a beat.

It seems she grows prettier each time he sees her, and kinder, her light bold but warm in the Force. He’s attracted, like a moth to a flame.

“Your own meal makes my eyes water just smelling it, though”, she adds with a laugh.

“You want a taste?” he asks hastily, and nearly makes his box fall.

“Why not”, she replies, smiling. “I’ll probably regret it.”

“You will”, Korkie replies darkly, pouring a glass of milk in prevision.

She takes a bite from Anakin’s meal, and promptly turns red, fanning herself with her hand, tears springing from her eyes. Korkie slides the glass towards her and she downs it, sighing.

“Goddess! This is a biochemical hazard”, she says, pouring herself another glass. “How do you even _eat_ that?!”

“Habit”, Anakin replies with a laugh.

Elath rolls his eyes.

“He’s a dirty cheater is what it is”, he cuts in. “Yes, you get used to it, but food on Tatooine is extremely spicy in some spaces. He could already handle his spices when he got introduced to Mandalorian cuisine.”

That actually makes Padmé chuckle, along with Anakin’s indignant “hey!”, and she bumps her shoulder against his.

“Come back often enough and I might get used to it”, she says teasingly, and his mouth goes dry.

This is an invitation, right? He dearly hopes it is. He hasn’t forgotten that one instant of truth he had years ago, when he was still an enslaved child and she was an undercover Queen on the run: that one day, she would become his wife. He could never forget it, not with how it rang into the Force. He doesn’t know how it will come to be, when they have lives that are so different – when he is a former slave, and a Jedi, and she is a queen, the closest he’s ever been to an angel. He is not foolish enough to not consider that maybe, probably, even, he might one day leave the Order for her.

That time is not yet, though, but the truth of her still rings through him like an eternal chime.

“It would be my pleasure”, he finally manages to say, and feels foolish for the not so subtle way he looks at her.

Given the way she flushes and averts her gaze, she hasn’t missed it either.

“Let me”, he adds when she goes to stand and put her empty box in the trash, taking it from her, and gathering everyone’s as well.

He doesn’t know what exactly prompts it, but the sudden blare of desire surprises him, nearly making him stumble. It is quickly quashed, Padmé smoothing over her thoughts and locking them tight behind impressive shields for a Force-null, but it is enough to let him reeling – reeling and hopeful, that he is not the only one feeling like this. He is incredibly grateful to be the only Force-sensitive around, and still tightens his own shields just to be sure.

The little group resumes its work, and Anakin can’t bring himself to leave – and it isn’t long before he’s pulled into bringing tea and caff as the evening drags out. It is an hour before midnight when Padmé declares them done, and sends her aides out to get some rest. Korkie is the last one left, with one of her handmaidens.

“Can you bring Korkie back?” Anakin asks in a low voice to Elath, who gives him a long look.

“I’m supposed to be escorting you”, he reminds him.

“ _Ba’vodu_ ”, he pleads – not _buir_ , he can’t bring himself to call another _buir_ , but the affection is the same.

“But! I _really_ don’t want to cockblock you so I’ll see myself out, and Korkie along. You better be careful, Anakin.”

“I will”, he promises, and smiles.

Elath gives him one last look before wrapping an arm around Korkie’s shoulders and tugging him along before he misses his curfew. Padmé and her handmaiden are finishing straightening her desk, making sure important documents are back where they belong, but she looks up, meets his gaze and nods at her friend, whispering some words to her.

Dormé leaves with an amused smirk, and when the door closes behind her, the two of them are left in a heavy silence. There is no denying the crackling tension there, the wondering, and how it will break.

“It was a lovely evening, despite the work”, Anakin finally says, softer than he intended.

“It was”, she replies, staring back at him, looking away, and then back at him again. “I-”

He takes a few steps, tentative, and feels the breath she draws in. The fluttering of her heart. Funny how things sometimes overwhelm him when he least expects it.

“I keep being amazed by your kind, fierce heart”, he finally says, voice tight. “You burn so brightly in the Force, Padmé, like you did when we met.”

“Anakin, I- This- We shouldn’t”, she says, but she doesn’t sound like she believes it.

He retreats slightly, doubtful.

“I want you”, he says carefully. “And- And I know you want me too. Why shouldn’t we?”

“You’re a Jedi”, she says, “and I am committed to the Senate. I don’t have _time_ for-”

“Friendship? For moments of pleasure in my arms?” he asks, and smiles crookedly. “I can’t offer more than that, not now, not- we were friends once, but we both changed so much since then… Do you still find it unreasonable?”

She gives him a doubtful look, but he can see her composure breaking.

“It seems… risky”, she finally says.

“I can’t promise that’s all it would always be”, he replies. “But for now… For now, it feels like it should be enough. Like you said, you have the Senate. I have the Jedi, and my training as armourer.” He lets out a sigh, and looks to the side. “It can also be a one time thing, if you would prefer that. Or never. But I see no reason to deny ourselves.”

The breath that leaves her seems loud in the silence, but maybe it’s because he is so focused on her. Her grip is tight on her desk, her pupils wide and dark, her shields fissured and letting the roil of her emotions filter through.

“Padmé?” he asks, worried, when she remains unmoving for slightly too long.

“Yes”, she says. “Tonight… Yes. We can talk about it more when I can think again.”

He smiles and surges up, pulling her tight against him to claim her mouth, and feels her gasp against his lips. She is light in his arms, when he lifts her up and seats her on her desk.

“Wait- Anakin, _here?”_

He chuckles against her throat.

“Don’t tell me you never thought about it”, and she feels guilty in the Force, and he laughs harder. “Oh, _Senator_ , whatever shall I do with you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _ven'alor_ : heir.  
>  _jate_ : good.  
>  _ni ceta_ : I'm sorry (lit: I kneel).  
>  _beskad_ : Mandalorian sabre.  
>  _riduurok_ : wedding, marital bond.  
>  _shereshoy_ : lust for life and much more \- uniquely Mandalorian word, meaning the enjoyment of each day and the determination to seek and grab every possible experience, as well as surviving to see the next day - hanging onto life and relishing it.  
>  _osik_ : shit.  
>  _vor'e, baju'ad_ : thank you, Master.
> 
> Note: "When one chooses to walk the way of the Mandalore, you are both hunter and prey" is a direct quote from The Mandalorian s1, and "No one can follow the way and be a coward. This is the Way." is slightly re-worded to fit the context, but taken there as well.
> 
> _Nar'Dral_ : from "narir", to act, and "dral", strong, powerful, bright, glowing. So, here, one who acts with strength.


	43. A Call for Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre Vizsla is in need of guidance and advice, with how much his whole world has been changing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING for this chapter: drug use; ritualistic drug use; altered mind-state; attempt at possession; physical reactions to drug use.  
> If you'd rather skip that part (starting with Pre saying "Laan"), I will put a brief summary in the end notes, after the translations.

The office is as calm as can be, in the middle of the night. Korkie just hung up his weekly call, Krownest-accented Mando’a now easily rolling on his tongue. It warms something in Pre’s heart, to know one of their lost children has been retrieved and brought back to their culture. He looks at the datapads stacked neatly on the side of his desk, all pertaining to Concordia and his work as Governor, and pushes them aside. He pushes a button, locking the door, and opens a datafeed to make sure everything is secure, before he even dares to open the secret compartment of his desk. There, he grabs the hidden datapad and slides the datachip in the slot meant for it. He hid at as usual when he received it, under the gem of his bracelet – Mandalorian, armourer-made jewellery, hidden under Kelevalan appearances. A work he commissioned years ago, when he was still a teenager who already knew there were things his _buir_ should ignore, and that he must prepare for any outcome.

Nurrhloldia Bralor’s report is long and carefully detailed, and he trusts her words and impressions. She’s one of those most faithful to him, and it shows in her family – she did marry a former _Haat Mando’ad_ with a Force-touched child. Hers is not the only report to have arrived, of course, and Korkie, without knowing it, has given him precious insider information. The way he talks about his younger brothers lets him believe there is something more about the children, than them being Force-sensitive and sent by Jango Fett. The kid’s sabacc face is pure _osik_ , however he knows better than to give confidential information.

Obi-Wan and his student have sworn to the _Resol’nare_. He cannot stop himself from grinning at such joyous news – having Obi-Wan on the side of the _Mando’ade_ is an unexpected boon. He cannot even bring himself to be mad at Obi-Wan’s deception, when they were both still very young men. Or, well. No longer. He was a spy during war – and an admirable one, at that. Such are the rules during war, and while his own feelings abated in the face of absence and distance – in the face of grief at the thought that he had lost Ben, without even a body to burn – there is still admiration and a good deal of affection for his first love.

Maybe, he can’t help but think, maybe the old flame could be rekindled. Having a _Jetii_ as a spouse would put him in good standing as _Mand’alor_ , and he knows better than to dismiss Obi-Wan’s skill. But it is not time yet to plan for such things.

Losing Iolar was a blow, the news of Elath’s change of allegiance is… bitter, at best. Not unexpected, though. The old warrior never settled well with Tor’s policies, especially his treatment of children. Pre has given him no reason to think he is different: there had been others, with far more political weight, to court and gain as allies. Elath is too old for a proper war now, too old to adopt little ones, though he has wisdom and experience. Pre knows the value of that, of course, but he must prioritise. Losing Elath is a minor inconvenience. It stings, but it’s better than death.

He pauses, re-reading the line he just read, figuring out he must have misread it. He hasn’t. No matter how much he reads it, again and again, the words don’t change.

_The Armourer of Little Manda’yaim, Sathi Nott, has taken Anakin Skywalker, of Clan Kenobi, as their apprentice._

His first thought is _rage_. Rage, that the _Jetiise_ have infiltrated themselves far enough that an armourer would train one in their ways. He breathes through it, uncurling his fingers, retracting simili-fangs and claws. It is not necessarily a bad thing. The combined powers would be something fearsome, of course, but once he became _Mand’alor_ … Breathing again, he resumes reading.

_While the thought first angered me, I find myself thinking it a boon,_ Nurrhloldia writes. _Skywalker might be a Jedi, but he is also a former slave, a child of the desert. There is a well of passion in him, amidst which anger is strong. He is **mandokarla** , and surely this is what the armourer saw. Sathi’s sympathies aren’t exactly a secret, and their ruthlessness makes them a good sparring partner. They have strengthened Skywalker already, and he takes to the **Resol’nare** fiercely. He is loyal to the ones he loves, not to concept or ideals. You would gain to win him to your cause, **Mand’alor**._

Pre puts the datapad down, tapping his thumb against his desk. This is a lot to take in, but he can tell this is actually important. There are too many things gathered in the same place for it to be a coincidence. Obi-Wan being Stewjoni, in particular. It nags at the back of his head, and he has to actually pause and wonder if this is simply a biological call to _mate_. He hardly ever feels it, but Stewjoni advisors taught him about it – how Taungs and their progeny found themselves attracted to worthy warriors. He dismisses the thought as quick as it came – he would have felt it before, if it was that.

The next report comes from Clan Kesuti: the wedding finally took hold between _ven’alor_ Rhytri and _ven’alor_ Gar Saxon. A strong alliance that he encouraged, needing to bring the Stewjoni into the fold, especially Clan Kesuti, with how they accepted their Force-touched children. He finds himself glad to have read Nurrhloldia’s report first, or he might have choked when he discovered that none other than Skywalker officiated the wedding.

The second part of the report is focused on Kal Kesuti – registered, officially, as Cal Kestis. A child they have believed lost for many years. A Jedi Initiate, that Kenobi returned when the truth of his birth came to light. A Stewjoni. It cannot be a coincidence. It is like- like everything is focusing on Coruscant. Rhytri went back there with the Jedi, to teach her nephew – instead of consolidating her _riduurok_ and the alliance with Clan Saxon. But then, Kal is her _ad_ , technically. It is expected that she prioritize him over a political wedding – and, truth be told, Pre doesn’t begrudge her to want to stay away from Gar. He doesn’t like the guy either.

The next report comes from his armourer here, on Concordia. He doesn’t know why yet, but Sathi Nott has summoned the Council of the Three. He’d be offended that they so easily discarded him as _Mand’alor_ if he didn’t know how the Council deals with troubled times and civil war – as long as the whole of the _Mando’ade_ don’t agree on one, the armourers will act like there isn’t one. He knows he is just a pretender to the title – that it still belongs to Fett, and doesn’t that enrage him. But such a summon is unprecedented in a human lifespan. Even when there was the terrorist attack on Kuat, the armourers didn’t gather as a _whole_. Three of them, at least, agreed that the attackers were to be declared _dar’manda_ , and that was it.

There is something brewing on Coruscant – well, there is war brewing in the galaxy. He can see it, feel it come. But this… this is something else. He hasn’t felt the need for guidance in a long time, but tonight… Yes, tonight he needs it, even though he hates to ask for it. The process always leaves him sick and weakened in the morning, but there are things worth a bit of sickness. He learnt it from old books Tor never bothered to read, and from the mouth of his current armourer’s teacher.

“Laan”, he calls on secure line. _“K’olar. Ni ven’kemi briik’vheh o’r acyk.”_

He doesn’t wait for an answer from the armourer, and instead removes himself to his quarters. Once again, he makes sure everything is secure, though he leaves the door unlocked for the armourer, before opening the hidden chamber where he keeps his _beskar’gam_ and weapons, along with all that is needed to care for it. The room isn’t meant for storage alone, though, and he lights a stick of incense before closing the door to take a shower. It isn’t a necessary step of the ritual, but anything that can ease it – he will do it. Scrubbed clean, he puts on his _kute_ , and then, slowly, his armour on.

“You know I disapprove of this”, Laan says, their footsteps silent.  
“You’ve said it before, yes”, Pre replies, slowly turning to face them. “I need the advice.”  
“You know my predecessor was already losing his mind when he taught you this. Drugging yourself won’t result in a mystical experience-”  
“It worked before”, Pre says confidently. “The _ka’ra_ won’t begrudge me their guidance.”  
“A drug induced hallucination isn’t-”  
“They led me to victory”, Pre retorts viciously. “Even if it was only an hallucination, it worked.”  
“As you wish, _alor_ ”, Laan replies with a sigh. “I will be taking notes, then.”

The armourer put their _buy’ce_ on, making sure it is well sealed and will filter the air, before following Pre in the small chamber. The door closed, Pre carefully sets his own helmet down as he kneels, the Darksabre laid down before him.

_“Ru’Manda’lore, gar meg taab'echaaj'la o’r Manda, ka’ra meg kar’tayli. Gedetye, susulu ner orjor.”_

The incense has already done its work, slowing his heart and making him slightly dizzy, but the incense is only part of it. Pre reaches into the low piece of furniture holding the Darksabre, and retrieves a very small bowl and a jar. From the jar, he pours a red powder that would blister his skin should he touch it, before putting it back. He sets fire to it and a heavy, dark smoke rises from the little cup, which he brings to his face, inhaling deeply.

He does his best not to cough and not to collapse, even as his vision swims, and he closes his eyes. His heartbeat is loud in his head, the scents intense and nauseating, and _ka’ra_ he hates it.

“You really should stop with that”, a metallic voice says.  
“For once, we’re in agreement. You could open your mind to us with some meditation instead of drugging yourself to the gills.”

There’s a snort.

“ _Meditation_. Tarre, nobody but you knows how to meditate here.”  
“Leave it! Only the strongest should rule”, someone else snaps.

The bickering grows intense, and Pre winces, holding his eyes shut tightly as his ears ring.

“I swear. Children, the lot of them”, a voice he _knows_ says, and he feels like the bottom of his stomach falls. “It’s been a long time, little one.” A pause. “You’re finally letting me close enough to talk?”

The nausea grows.

“I am in need of advice, from those who came before me.”  
“And in that, you are wiser than both your _buire_ ”, the voice says. “Then again, you’ve always been wickedly smart.”  
“Don’t corrupt him with your ideas”, a feminine voice snarls, and oh, he knows her too.  
“ _Mand’alor_ the Destroyer”, he greets her.  
“Your power is slipping”, she says, her voice sharp, hard – she always reminded him of his father.  
“You’ve done enough damage as it is”, a growl. “What do you want to know?”  
“You must clear the drugs, _ner ad_. It’s killing you.”  
“I need your advice”, he says again, growing desperate as pain shoots up his spine.  
“The road ahead is full of darkness”, he hears. “There are things… Pawns, plans, already in place, already moving. They cannot be changed.”  
“What _can_ be? What is the right path for Mandalore? What can be done, to unite our people, to make us strong again?”

There is a long silence.

“They will die a death that will last millennia, until all that remains is their code, their history, and in the end, the shell of their armour upon the shell of a man, too easily slain by Jedi.”  
“Shut _up_ Jaster! Shut up with that kriffing prophecy!”

Pre feels like he’s freezing and like he’s burning up, and he can’t quite make sense of the words he hears.  
“It doesn’t have to be that way”, another says, and calms come back. “It doesn’t have to be that way”, he repeats, slowly. “Visions don’t all come to pass, and prophecies are even trickier. But you are not the only player in this, _ner ad_. Nor are you the strongest one.”  
“This is-” His tongue feels like lead. “The death of our people? I cannot accept it. I _cannot_.”

The heaviness wearing him down disappears, and he feels like he can breathe again.

“The road will be long, and difficult, and the endgame won’t be in your hands. You will know pain that you have never known, if you go that way.” Another pause. “And you will know peace.”

A horrible, grating, screeching noise rises then and- Pre isn’t sure he’s screaming, but it _hurts_ , it hurts like nothing else.

“ _Peace_. I was promised peace, and rest-”

It feels like there are fingers sinking into his mind, and he tries to shake them off, to-

“Back off!” someone snarls, “back off, Sith! You will not touch him!”  
“I hunger”, the screeching voice groans, and the nausea is terrible, “I hunger…”

Pain builds and flashes, before disappearing, only the aftershocks left. Pre startles at the touch of a gauntleted hand against his cheek.

_“Ner ad, me vaar’ti gar?”_ _“Aaray”_, Pre manages to moan, shivering and trembling.

He feels something akin to relief and _knows_ that it is not his own feeling.

“You cannot do that again”, one says softly. “Opening your mind like this doesn’t only let _us_ get in contact with you, and if Lord Sion could find you, others will. Believe me, _ner ad_ , you don’t want to be possessed by a Sith Lord.”

Pre heaves at the thought, at the reminder of the fingers sinking in his mind. The gauntleted hands hold him tightly.

“Y’re…”  
“I’m Tarre”, he says gently. “And you wield my ‘sabre, _ner ad_.”  
“You won’t find help with the dead, little one”, Jaster _kriffing_ Mereel says, and Pre held him back before, but he was so desperate for help, for knowledge… “Not for what is coming.”  
“Kriff you”, he manages to mumble, and he hears many of them chuckle.  
“You already know what to do, _ner ad_. You just don’t like it”, Tarre says, and were he feeling better, Pre would be awed.

Instead, he only manages to groan a weak “ _nayc_ ”, before the touch of the gauntlets disappears and he finds himself falling forward. The armourer is quick to shove a basin under him, just in time for him to sick up, like he always does after this ritual.

“ _Kriff, alor_ , I’m calling a _baar’ur_.”  
“’m fine”, he says, heaving again, his eyes burning, skin itching, pain flaring up his face along his sinuses, feeling cold and feverish from the drug.  
“You are _not_ fine”, Laan snaps. “I’m calling a _baar’ur_ ”, they say again, and they sound worried.

He does feel worse than he usually does, and he must lose some time because the next thing he knows, there’s a bright light in his eyes as the _baar’ur_ curses him.

“-can’t believe you would flatline on me”, they’re saying, and for some reason he finds that very funny. “Bedrest for at least a week”, they say, and it can’t be that bad, they must be-

Three days later, Pre realizes that it _is_ that bad. He can stand – though the _baar’ur_ would likely kill him for even trying – but his limbs feel heavy and uncoordinated, his fingers still trembling from the whole ordeal. His eyes are bloodshot and there are burst veins all around them, and his nose keeps bleeding. He apparently stopped breathing at some point, and his heart stopped beating – and that is all once he is no longer bed-ridden by a terrible vertigo accompanied by a headache and nausea.

Laan is mad with him. They’re also the only thing keeping him upright, so he figures they have the right to be. Only once his head is clearer, does he manage to think back to what happened when he attempted to contact the _ka’ra. Mand’alor_ the Destroyer had given him sound advice in the past, but it is the first time his own ancestor spoke to him so clearly. And- Jaster. He hates how the man talked to him, like the bad blood between their factions _doesn’t matter_. Like he is a child in need of guidance.

Then again, he was apparently almost possessed by the spirit of a Sith Lord. He doesn’t like it very much, to say the least – nor does he like the prophecy Jaster spoke of, and the _ka’ra_ seemed to view it with an equal distaste. He likes even less that it is apparently not in his power to prevent it.

“Is it so much to ask for unity and glory back to Mandalore?” he asks to the empty refresher.

Of course, no one answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _osik_ : shit  
>  _ven'alor_ : heir (lit: future leader).  
>  _riduurok_ : marriage, marriage bond.  
>  _“K’olar. Ni ven’kemi briik’vheh o’r acyk.”_ : Come. I am going to walk the path (lit: line-earth) in between.  
>  _kute_ : body-glove put under armour.  
>  _“Ru’Manda’lore, gar meg taab'echaaj'la o’r Manda, ka’ra meg kar’tayli. Gedetye, susulu ner orjor.”_ : Ancient Kings, you who march away in the Manda, stars/council of kings who know. Please, hear my call [lit: shout, cry].  
>  _ner ad_ : my child.  
>  _“Ner ad, me vaar’ti gar?”_  
>  _“Aaray”_ : "My child, how are you?" "Pain"  
>  _baar'ur_ : medic.
> 
> A/N: the prophecy is one from the Extended Universe.
> 
> Summary: Pre uses a mostly forgotten ritual to contact the _ka'ra_ , using drugs to open his mind. He almost gets possessed by the spirit of Sith lord Sion in the process, and is only protected by Tarre's intervention. Tarre ends up telling him that he already knows what to do, it's just that he doesn't like it. The prophecy announcing the end of the Mandalorians is quoted by Jaster.
> 
> There is an explicit one-shot about Pre/Obi-Wan back during the Mandalore mission, you can find it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27252982)


	44. Arvala-7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin has a mission as apprentice armourer, that takes him to the remote planet of Arvala-7... However, on that same planet, another man is visiting, searching for answers and knowledge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arvala-7, if you're wondering, is the planet where The Child is kept when The Mandalorian finds him in the first episode of The Mandalorian.
> 
> There is another, scrapped, version of this chapter, that I will post on my tumblr and linked in the end notes. I started writing it, the characters were idiots, and I wrote myself into a wall, but I still decided to post it if you want further insight on Pre and some fun.  
> Next week, we finally meet the Armourers.
> 
> *
> 
> CT-3381 / Skira, blind.  
> CT-3382 / Tracyn, deaf, blond, golden eyes.  
> CT-3383/ Runi, Nautolan.  
> CT-3384/ Naak, Togruta.  
> CT-3385/Haat, autistic.

Arvala-7 reminds him too much of Tatooine. That’s probably why Sathi sent him there, on his first outing as an apprentice armourer. It’s rocky, deserted, and there are a few moisture farms. A lot less than there are on Tatooine, though. Anakin sighs into his helmet, thankful at least for his thermals that keep him at a decent temperature. It won’t last, of course, because he will inevitably take it off, but for now it’s good.

He landed his ship far enough from the enclave to not get shot down or make the local nervous. The last thing he wants is a Death Watch enclave nervous and jumpy. He locks the jetpack on his back, and carefully adds the kama to his belt. Makes sure his blasters are where they should be, as well as his lightsabre, his lightdagger strapped over the small of his back, and his throwing knives within reach. He has water and rations, because the walk promises to be a long one, and a change of clothes should he need it.

“Watch the ship, EnDee”, he says, and grins at the droid he updated _again_.

The sun is barely up, and his HUD tells him the heat is already stifling. Oh what a joy. If he can at least grab a blurgg… He isn’t as gifted with animals as Obi-Wan is, sure, but he’s kriffing _Jedi_ and he won’t walk the whole way if he doesn’t have to. It is around midday when he finally manages to coax one into letting him ride it, after getting soundly headbutted by the first he approached. He lets it go when he gets within quick reach of the enclave.

“Enclave” is the right word, he realizes. The village is hunkered down between cliffs, with narrow passageways offering a quick escape if needed. Sathi didn’t tell him much beyond what to search for and where, though they did warn him that all the Mandalorians here are Death Watch. He’ll stick out like a sore thumb.

At a glance, there can’t be more than around fifty people living here. That doesn’t tell him how many clans there are, or how fanatic about bringing back the old ways they are. He can see people milling about – not all in full _beskar’gam_ , farmers need more freedom of movement, but they all wear at least vambraces and shin-guards, with a personal shield set in.

He takes a moment to drink the disgustingly hot water he took with him, and rest a bit. He won’t be stupid and go in there while weakened. He gives himself half an hour of rest in the shadows before jumping down, using the Force to land soundlessly and without breaking any bones.

Everything seems to stop, pausing so people can stare at him when he comes into view. It’s not hostility he feels from them as much as outright shock. He goes straight to the local cantina for food, drink and information. If all goes well, he might even get a place to sleep. The place is small and packed when he gets there – there are maybe twenty places for patrons, and about all are taken. Only one man is sitting in front of an empty place, frowning down at his food and pushing it around – his thoughts whirling about when Anakin brushes against his mind. Lost in thoughts, then.

“Two roba pies”, he says after glancing at the menu, sliding a datachip to the owner, “and a _netra’gal_.”  
“Coming right up”, the armoured figure standing behind the counter tells him.

He looks around: the only free place is still with the blond man he noticed earlier.

“ _Su’cuyi_ ”, he greets. _“Tion’lise?”_ he asks, pointing to the empty space.

The man looks up, a lot more alert than he made it seem, and briefly appraises him before nodding, gesturing to the seat.

“ _Vor’e_ ”, Anakin replies, siting down and pulling his helmet off to set it down next to him.  
“ _Gar Jetii_ ”, the man says, and Anakin nods and grins.  
“ _’lek. Ni Anakin, aliit Kenobi._ ”

His dining companion nods.

“And yet you walk in here like you have nothing to fear”, he says, eyeing him as brings his own cup to his lips.  
“Fear amongst Mandalorians is like blood in shark-infested waters: a sure way to get yourself killed”, Anakin retorts, and the other snorts.  
“What are you here for, then?”  
“A meal”, Anakin replies, lifting his eyebrows.

The other looks at him with naked incredulity.

“You haven’t come to the ass-end of the galaxy just for _a meal_.”  
“Nope”, he says, popping the ‘p’ and thanking the server who brings him the two pies and the beer, setting them down in front of him.  
“You’re going to eat all that?”  
“I’m a still growing boy who needs lots of energy”, he replies with a saucy grin, that gets completely lost on the other.

Then, he digs into his meal, which prompts his host to get on with his. The tension is high in the cantina, and everyone is listening in, though everyone also pretends not to, with more or less success. He keenly feels the disbelief when he polishes both plates, leaving not a single crumb from the pies.

“You’re going to fall into a food coma”, his companion says, feeling both amused and incredulous in the Force.  
“Oh that would be lovely”, Anakin replies. “I don’t have the time for it, however.” He tilts his head. “Do you know if there’s a place I can rent for the night?”

The other snorts.

“Rent? You think there’s a lot of tourists around here?” he shakes his head. “There isn’t anything of the like, but you’re welcome to share the dwelling I use. Don’t start shit and we won’t either.”  
“I’m not here to start anything”, Anakin replies. “Just to get some materials. I’m apprentice armourer.”

He feels the sheer disbelief of the room at his words – but not, surprisingly, from his companion. Interesting. The Force nudges him, not to warn him of trouble, but simply to tell him there is more here than meets the eye. He nods his head.

“I accept your offer, though. What should I call you?”  
“You don’t”, someone replies, which makes many laugh – amongst which his host for the night.  
“You may call me Jai”, he answers with a grin.  
“It’s not your name”, Anakin guesses.  
“No”, the man says, his grin widening, showing off teeth slightly too sharp to only be human – and definitely reminding him of Obi-Wan’s, with the way it sends a shiver through his spine. “It was my _buir_ ’s. She marched away years ago, she won’t be offended.”  
“Well, Jai, it was a pleasure”, Anakin replies, pulling on his best Sabacc face to appear unfazed.  
“Meet me here tonight if you still plan on spending the night”, Jai tells him, and the Force weaves around him, not shrieking of danger but… warning him.

Which doesn’t exactly surprise him when the man is so clearly Death Watch. Anakin nods and leaves the cantina, to go in search of the gems Sathi asked he retrieves.

Pre watches the young armourer leave, rubbing the bristle on his chin. He didn’t expect that at all. Skywalker should have been on Coruscant, not _here_ , in an Enclave so lost they barely have a half-trained armourer to help them. He bites back a heavy sigh, knowing his people are all watching him. The _ka’ra_ couldn’t have made it clearer if they wanted to, sending the baby jedi right into his arms. Even though he can’t hear them like this, he’s pretty sure they’re mocking him.

“You have offered him hospitality for the night, _‘alor_ ”, one of the patrons says in complete disbelief. “A _Jetii_.”  
“An apprentice armourer, who is trained in _Jetii_ ways by _Ori’n’ijaat_ ”, he says. “We would have won a fight, but at what cost?” He shakes his head. “I won’t be spilling your blood thoughtlessly, _vode_. Especially when I hold the hope to bring him to our side.”

The silence is deafening, until they start shifting and nodding around. He has warned them that the world beyond their enclave was changing, that war is fast approaching. That the Jedi are training their own Force-touched, saving the life of their children and brothers. Anakin is probably the best first contact they could have with the Order.

“We follow you, _‘alor_. If you say he must be spared, then he will be.”

Skywalker isn’t back before nightfall, but when he finally enters the cantina again, he has a heavy-looking pouch strapped to his belt, his _beskar’gam_ covered in dirt and sand. When the _buy’ce_ comes off, they see that his face is no better, hair wet with sweat and face streaked with dark red smudges. He looks _tired_ , the same way the farmers look tired after a full day of work.

Pre can’t – and doesn’t try to – stop his eyebrows from climbing up his forehead at the sight. He is nursing his _tihaar_ – even stronger than he is used to, but desert-brewing often tended to be – his own meal long since finished. He lets the young man order two roba pies again, before calling out to him.

“Did you crawl into a ditch?” he asks.  
“Almost”, Skywalker replies. “Tunnels and galleries. I’ve got sand _everywhere_ ”, he groans, like this is a personal offence. “Ugh. I don't like sand. It's coarse, and rough, and irritating, and it gets everywhere.”

Pre tries, honestly. He really tries, but he still ends up laughing at his face.

“What are you doing on a desert planet, then? You should have stayed in your Temple.”

Skywalker glares back, and digs into his meal. Pre chuckles again.

“Don’t worry, there’s a sonic shower. You’ll get the sand off.” He waits for the boy to finish chewing, before continuing. “Did you find what you needed?”

He nearly flinches back when the pouch lifts off from Skywalker’s belt without anything touching it, landing on the table between them and spilling its contents. Gems. Semi-precious, and still caked in dirt, but gems nonetheless. Pre takes one, looking at it curiously. He recognizes it as standard in Mandalorian jewellery, the kind most wear during everyday life.

He hums, putting it back, though he is impressed with the amount Skywalker found in not even a full afternoon of searching. The boy scarfs down his meal, and Pre realizes he won’t get much more conversation from him tonight, not with how tired he looks. The _jetii_ follows him out, to one of the houses on the outskirts where he’s been staying for the duration of his visit to the enclave. It’s a standard laying for a Mandalorian house, but adapted to the desert – set in the ground for cooler temperatures. It’s one large room, offering no privacy whatsoever beyond a set of decorated windbreakers hiding the ‘fresher. There are three bunks at different heights along the wall, and as many armour stands.

The Darksabre is carefully hidden in his travelling bag, in a beskar casing, and Pre has definitely noticed how Anakin has brought nothing but himself – but he also knows how to pack a change of clothes into one of his larger belt-pouches. It is exactly what Skywalker did, he realizes when the boy pulls rumpled, thin clothes from his belt, setting them on one of the upper, unused bunks. Pre wonders how well they’ll sleep, when the enemy is so near. Maybe not much, but it fosters trust anyway, as well as familiarity.

“Go ahead”, he says, starting to clean up his armour when Skywalker looks at him.

The _Jetii_ looks slightly better once he’s out of the sonics, in fresh clothes, and they exchange their places. When Pre comes back out, Skywalker is passed out on his bunk, limbs everywhere, and peaceful like this, he looks even younger. It still takes Pre a long time before he can fall asleep, this close to a trained Jedi.

[When he opens his eyes in the morning, it is to the sight of a pearl and several gems floating before his eyes. He blinks, wondering if that’s his imagination, and reaches out for them – but they scuttle out of the way, weaving around his fingers. He sits up abruptly when he realizes they’re not the only floating thing in the room: nearly everything that isn’t bolted to the floor is spinning in lazy circles, like meteors spinning around a planet, all orbiting around the same larger object.](https://favoriteginger.tumblr.com/post/643321124211621888/image-id-anakin-skywalker-floating-cross-legged)

Said object is a Jedi, casually sitting up in the air, levitating like it’s nobody’s business. It sends a chill up Pre’s spine, the casual display of power, the look of intense focus on Skywalker’s face. He grabs his boot and chucks it at him, only, to his dismay, to see his boot stop centimetres from his face to join in the spinning circle. Grumbling and swearing under his breath, Pre gets up and weaves through the rings. Standing, he’s face to face with a sitting Skywalker.

The slap is loud in the eerie silence of early morning, jerking Skywalker’s head to the side, and everything, Jedi included, falls to the ground with thump. Skywalker groans and glares at him.

“I had finally managed a deep meditation alone _without struggling!_ What did you do that for?!”  
“You were floating shit about and levitating!”, Pre replies, an edge to his voice that he can’t quite shake off. “That’s super creepy!”

Skywalker looks around, and his mouth falls open in a surprised “oh”. He looks up at Pre and rubs at his nape sheepishly.

“Um, sorry”, he says. “I didn’t realize I was doing it. Didn’t mean to creep you out.”  
“Well, now you can clean up your mess, _Jetii_ ”, Pre replies.

Skywalker’s cheek has a red imprint already appearing – okay, Pre didn’t have to hit _that_ hard. Skywalker starts gathering all the dropped items, but it takes a moment before Pre breaks the silence again.

“You were meditating?”

Skywalker glances at him.

“Yeah”, he replies. “I’m… not good at it, usually. I get distracted by everything. But here, it’s so… _calm_ ”, he says. “The planet is almost deserted, and so early in the morning, the village isn’t up yet. I’d never felt the Force like this… Usually, it’s always nagging me about, telling me to go this way or that, and here… Here it finally let me dive in without fighting me.”

Pre makes a face: Arvala-7 is a _dump_. There’s literally nothing of value here, aside from the fact that it’s calm and rich in semi-precious gems – but even that is not enough to bring big companies or create lots of villages. It’s the perfect place to hide and lie low, and for some specific trainings for young Mandalorians.

“Aren’t you scared of leaving your mind open for something else to take your place?” he finally asks after a long time pondering, but who will be able to answer this but a Jedi?

Skywalker gives him a long, searching look.

“Are you talking of possession?” he asks carefully. “It is… extremely rare. Jedi are trained not to leave our minds empty, even in the midst of meditation. Possession from a wandering… creature only happens if your mind is completely empty. Possession from a Sith artefact is different and can only be avoided with strong shields.” He looks thoughtful for a second. “Possession isn’t a natural thing. It’s contrary to the Force, an act of Darkness.”  
“Shields”, Pre repeats, calculating. “You make shields in your mind.”

Skywalker nods.

“Force-sensitives all learn to build some kind of shields, but the un-trained ones are weaker and more likely to break. We are natural empaths: shields are necessary.”

Pre stills, something cold lodged in his stomach.

“You can read minds?”  
“What? No, no we can’t read minds. Plus, it would be extremely rude”, Skywalker replies, shaking his head. “But people project emotions, unless they shield, and we’re in tune with that.” He gives him a wry smile. “Believe me, if you were constantly assaulted by people’s pain, grief, lust, anger, joy and everything in between, you would shield too.”  
“…You can tell how I feel?” Pre asks, and it’s only marginally better but it still makes him want to bury the Darksabre in Skywalker’s gut, just for _daring_ touch something so intimate.  
“I’m shielded”, Skywalker points out. “I could, though, if I wanted to, unless you’ve been taught how to shield or learnt it naturally. Most Mandalorians don’t bother, given that the beskar does it for them.”

Pre gives a glance to his _beskar’gam_. Well, that only makes him love his armour more. It’s pure beskar, melted from his mother’s after she marched away, and replacing his then-durasteel set. It served him well, and will surely do so in the near future.

“It’s no wonder my ancestors hated your kind and made their armours to fight Force-users”, he finally says, and Skywalker grimaces, then glares and crosses his arms.  
“Does it justify killing or abandoning children, _babies_ , though? It is not something of our own doing, and training is the only way to get some kind of control over it. We don’t have a _choice_.”

Pre grimaces in return. He knows how Force-sensitives are treated across the Galaxy, knows that for many, it is a condemnation to death, or to something worse: slavery. He can feel the beast laying down within him start to stir at the thought of young ones coming to harm, but he trumps it down hard, like he always did since he first took his father’s place.

“No”, he replies. “No, it doesn’t.”

There’s a long silence, and Skywalker starts to grab his thermals to get dressed.

“I’ll be out of your hair”, he says, “thank you for your hospitality.”

Pre stifles a groan: he’s being an idiot and he knows it. He loved Obi-Wan, who never let him know he was a Jedi. He can deal, especially if he wants the young armourer at his side.

“It’s okay, you can stay if you need”, he says, and then realizes the young man probably can feel his discomfort, which means he probably doesn’t want to stay here any longer than he needs to.  
“Thank you”, he replies, “but I have all I needed from here. I need to go back to my ship now.”

Pre stills.

“You- You left your ship outside of the enclave?”  
“Klicks away in the middle of nowhere”, Skywalker replies. “Didn’t want you guys to shoot me out of the sky.”

Pre winces.

“You won’t have much of a ship to return to… There are Jawas here. If it’s unattended, it’s free for the taking.”

The grin Skywalker sends him is honestly bone-chilling. _Now_ , he sees the Mandalorian in him, the capacity for ruthlessness and brutality, the part that _delights_ in fights.

“I grew up on Tatooine”, he says. “You really think I don’t know that? I hope, for their sake, that they didn’t touch my ship.”

A bit after midday, the Enclave silently watches the young _Jetii Mando’ad_ leave with semi-precious gems lining his pockets. Pre finally takes the Darksabre out of the beskar casing, running his fingers over the handle.

“I need to learn how to shield.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _netra'gal_ : black ale.  
>  _Tion'lise_ : Can I ? (lit: interrogative word + can).  
>  _vor'e_ : thanks.  
>  _Gar Jetii_ : You're a Jedi.  
>  _'lek. Ni Anakin, aliit Kenobi_ : Yeah. I'm Anakin, clan Kenobi.  
>  _'alor_ : ruler, leader, chief.
> 
> Scrapped chapter [here](https://bittodeath.tumblr.com/post/641661740153749504/first-and-last-meeting-du-scrapped-chapter-44).
> 
> Thank you FavoriteGinger for this incredible art (tumblr link in the text)!!!  
> 


	45. Armourers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The armourers are finally arriving on Coruscant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because several of you wondered what Anakin had done to the Jawas: he electrified the whole hull of his ship. You touch it? You get shocked back, at best. And if you find a way past that? ND-99 is waiting for you on the other side and you don't want to get on the bad side of a modified nurse-droid.
> 
> **_birikad_ : baby carrying harness.**
> 
> *
> 
> CT-3381 / Skira, blind.  
> CT-3382 / Tracyn, deaf, blond, golden eyes.  
> CT-3383/ Runi, Nautolan.  
> CT-3384/ Naak, Togruta.  
> CT-3385/Haat, autistic.

When Anakin returns to Coruscant, several armourers have already arrived and settled, and Sathi is proud to present him as their apprentice. Many of them came with their own apprentices and families, and the gathering has attracted the attention of many _Mando’ade_ across the galaxy. Little Manda’yaim hasn’t been this full in years, so much that the new arrivals have to find places to stay outside of the Mandalorian part of the city. The _Jatnese_ is always full, no matter the hour, and Dahl had to hire supplementary hands to help him run his business.

Tensions rise when the armourer serving Death Watch’s mysterious leader arrives – they haven’t had their duty for a long while yet, being in their mid-twenties, but there is already a weight about them, and people listen to them. It takes them a while before they approach either Anakin or Obi-Wan, and they seem fascinated by both. To Obi-Wan’s chagrin, they are also very friendly, though serious about their duty, and get on with Anakin fine.

“You should be careful around Laan”, Obi-Wan tells him in the privacy of their quarters. “They didn’t become Death Watch’s armourer by being an idiot, or a weak heart.”  
“I am”, Anakin assures him. “I’m simply teaching him how a Force-null can shield themselves. He appears concerned and invested in that.” He pauses. “They are scared of us, master. What we can do, our powers, how easily we could dive into their minds, it frightens them. They will only stop fearing if they can understand, and Laan is on that path.”

Obi-Wan is, this time, pleasantly surprised by the thought Anakin put it that.

“I see. Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering. That’s what you were thinking about?”  
“That’s why Mandalorians and Jedi opposed each other in the first place”, Anakin retorts. “Because they couldn’t understand us, and so they feared us… So many deaths, all because they feared. I think I understand better what Master Yoda means when he says that.”

Obi-Wan nods.

“The Dark Side affects Force-Users with more strength, because we are directly connected to the Force, but that doesn’t mean others can’t follow its path and suffer the consequences too. Evil men exist, and the Dark Side draws on that. Don’t forget that: the only difference between an evil man and a Sith is how connected they are to the Force. Both worship only one thing: themselves.”

News of another armourer’s arrival reach everyone as a beaten up ship finally makes it into atmosphere, Sathi’s excitement clear.

“We haven’t seen each other in years”, they say to Obi-Wan. “And they are a Child of the Watch, I’ve been hoping Anakin could meet one soon.”  
“Why the long wait?” Obi-Wan asks, leaning over the counter with a glass in hand.  
“They are a wanderer”, Sathi explains. “They never settled down within one community, and go wherever the Manda calls. I wouldn’t be surprised if you told me they are one of the _Kot’tigaanu_ , though I’m not sure they are. The last time we saw each other, they were going into Unknown Space. They will have stories to tell!”  
“Are there any Stewjoni armourers?” Anakin asks after a beat.  
“No”, Sathi replies immediately, “not outside of Stewjon itself. Armourers don’t leave Stewjon, there aren’t enough of us for that.”

To Sathi’s disappointment, though, their friend don’t hurry up to come find them – instead, several _Mando’ade_ see them climbing the stairs to the Temple, a toddler in a _birikad_ strapped to their back, a hover cradle following them. The wait is long, for those waiting in Little Manda’yaim – but word finally comes:

“They had a bounty, to bring a child to the Order”, a young _Mando’ad_ calls.

The Temple guards at the door watch serenely as the Mandalorian climbs up the stairs. Their presence is clear, void of any desire to hurt or to harm, though slightly saddened. They come up to the guards and stop there.

“I have been sent to give a child to the care of the Jedi Order”, they declare.

The initiate who comes up to guide visitors in isn’t frightened by the sight of _beskar’gam_ – they no longer have to be.

“You bring a Force-sensitive child to the Order, to be trained as a Jedi?” the child asks, opening a new file.  
“My client hired me to bring their child here, and entrust him to the Jedi Order. I know nothing more but things pertaining to the child’s care.”

The situation is unusual enough that the initiate calls for the back-up of a Master – and the Force rings and guides, like it always does. It is no coincidence that Master Yoda passes by, even though he had no idea of his purpose coming down there.

“A child, you bring to us?” the wizened Master asks, tapping his gimmer stick as he comes forward.

The armourer bow their head, and say a few words in a language the initiate never heard – but then, the initiate still has much to learn, and they wouldn’t have known it was unusual had it not been for Master Yoda’s reaction. His eyes widen, ears perking up, and his Force-presence brightens for a moment, lit up with joy. He answers in the same language, and the Mandalorian opens the cradle and lifts a baby out of it, leaving another to sleep there.

“Master?” the initiate asks. “What should I write down?”  
“Write, you should, that Initiate Grogu, accepted in the Temple today was”, Master Yoda replies, setting down his stick to hold out his hands.

The initiate nearly drop their pen at the sight of the green, wrinkled baby with long, pointed ears Master Yoda receives. The old master talks to the baby in that same language he did earlier, and the baby perks up and babbles. Master Yoda looks up at the Mandalorian towering over both of them.

“Thank you, I do, for bringing Grogu to us. Old, I am, and dangerous, the path to my people is.”  
“I know”, the Mandalorian replies, and makes an aborted gesture. “Take good care of him?”

Master Yoda chuckles.

“Yes, yes. All lives, precious are. Civilized, I am. Food, I know babies are not.”

The initiate looks up in alarm, and the Mandalorian chuckles and crouches down, gently running a gloved finger along Grogu’s ear.

“ _Returcye mhi, ad’ika_ ”, they say, before straightening up and closing the cradle again. “We will see each other again, elder. Oh, and just a warning: he is quite fond of frogs.”

Master Yoda’s ears twitch in amusement.

“Fond of them, I am also. Delicious snacks, they make.”

The armourer’s amusement is clear in the Force as they leave the Temple, and find their way down to Little Manda’yaim. The _Jatnese_ is waiting for them, and they laugh when Sathi greets them loudly, their helmets coming together with a clang.

“Where were you, my friend? We were waiting for you!”  
“I had a bounty to complete”, they reply. “A child, to be delivered to the _Jetii_ Temple. I was most honoured to meet the elder there.”

Sathi laughs.

“I knew you’d like the _Jetiise_ alright, what with your hanging around Elai whenever you can…” They pull back, gauntleted hands gently cradling the other’s _buy’ce_. “Did she give word?”  
“It’s a gathering of the Council, Sathi. Of course she will come.” They pause. “How many have arrived already?”  
“Twenty-seven, and we will have sixteen apprentices in attendance. Speaking of… Anakin!”

Anakin’s head snaps up and he trots up to them, _buy’ce_ on his belt and smiling.

“You’ve taken a _Jetii_ as your apprentice, I see”, the Child of the Watch says. “Elai might want to steal him.”  
“Elai can get karked for all I care”, Sathi replies. “He’s mine, and Obi-Wan’s, to train.”  
“Should I feel flattered that people might want to steal me away?” Anakin asks. “ _Ner ijaat_ , I’m Anakin, clan Kenobi. You are a Child of the Watch, or so I heard?”  
“Ooh, very polite, I see. It’s obvious you didn’t raise him, Sathi”, the Child of the Watch teases. “ _Ner ijaat_ , Anakin. I am called Cew, when I need a name to be called.”  
“ _Bu!_ ” a little voice called. _“Bu!”_

Cew deftly unclasps the _birikad_ , and takes the toddler in their arms. She has a deep blue skin, and matching red eyes, with dark hair pulled into a tight braid. Cew bounces her in their arms, and Sathi makes grabby hands. The child giggles and leans forward, nestling against their armour with a smile.

“My daughter, Kana”, Cew declares. “And my youngest is still asleep in the cradle. Look”, they say proudly, opening it to reveal a baby Nautolan, fast asleep.  
“They’re very young”, Anakin comments, watching the little one, feeling their dreams in the Force.  
“They are”, Cew agrees. “Let Sathi get to know my daughter, and present me your clan.”

There is only one armourer missing, and the tension climbs every hour they are not with the others, gathered in the _Jatnese_ amongst their people.

“Are you sure she’s coming?” Aleedy, one of the apprentices, asks again.  
“She gave her oath, like we all did”, Cew snaps back. “She will arrive.”  
“It was long ago”, Churr retorts. “Maybe she forgot? We couldn’t fault her…”  
“Elai is a legend of the past, dead and buried”, Laan snaps. “And now we’ll be missing one armourer…”  
“Quit telling everyone I’m dead”, a voice replies, and all heads snap up.

Obi-Wan was surprised they didn’t feel her approach, but she is clad in _beskar_ and shielded with care. The armourers were pretty tight-lipped about the last member of their Council, respecting her privacy, he thought – but maybe it was something else.

“I am seeing it with my own two eyes, and yet I can scarcely believe it”, she adds, staring right back at Obi-Wan. “Jedi, once more allied with Mandalorians. _Mandalorian_ Jedi.” There is a long pause, and when she talks again, her voice is breaking. “My two families, finally at peace, gathered, together again.”  
“Oh, Elai”, Cew calls softly, coming towards her and guiding her to an empty seat. “You are home again”, they whisper, and she lets out a wet laugh.  
“Yes, and it’s hideous. What in all hells happened to this planet? And why is the Force so _clouded_ here? It almost feels like-” She pauses. “Well, it brings back bad memories. Let me see you, _ner vode_ ”, she adds, gesturing at Obi-Wan, Anakin and Devhi.

She observes them for a long moment, unreadable in the Force, hidden behind her helmet. Then, slowly, she pulls it off, revealing short, light-blond hair and the pointy ears that usually mark Sephis, and relaxes her shields. She blazes in the Force, wizened and _old_. The only similar presence Obi-Wan has ever felt is Master T’ra Saa, and she is… Well. Old doesn’t even begin to cover it.

He’s not the only one to feel it, given the way Anakin and Devhi look at her, and she chuckles.

“I will have stories to tell, I believe. For now, I’d like to see the Temple for myself before night falls. I have _missed_ my home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _kot'tigaanu_ : Force-touched, aka Force-sensitive.  
>  _returcye mhi, adika_ : goodbye/we will see each other again, child.  
>  _Ner ijaat_ : a standard greeting upon meeting someone for the first time, like "it's a pleasure" or "glad to meet you". Lit.: My honour.  
>  _ner vode_ : my siblings.


	46. Dralne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elai visits the Temple, finding her way back home - but so many Mandalorians in one place has unexpected consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has three parts: Elai, Anakin, Obi-Wan with the _vod'ike_. Be aware that in the last part, there is a light injury and corresponding medical treatment. It's not gory or anything, but rather common - if skin trauma is something that squicks you, you can skip the last part after Haat falls asleep.  
> The OC guide has been updated with the armourers.
> 
> ! A while ago I was asked for help to translate an original Mando'a lullaby, made for the express purpose of being used by writers. I used a line of this lullaby, but I can't find the post for this lullaby again (to link and credit). It looks like both the post and the tumblr account it came from were deleted (though I may be mistaken, I'm not super good with technology).
> 
> *
> 
> CT-3381 / Skira, blind.  
> CT-3382 / Tracyn, deaf, blond, golden eyes.  
> CT-3383/ Runi, Nautolan.  
> CT-3384/ Naak, Togruta.  
> CT-3385/Haat, autistic.

Elai pauses every few steps on the way up to the Temple, but she doesn’t say much. Mostly, she seems… grieved. Anakin, Obi-Wan and Devhi walk by her side. The guards let them come in, and she bows her head in respect at them. She freezes at the door, and even with her _buy’ce_ on, they can tell she is overwhelmed.

“Are you alright?” Anakin asks after a moment, offering a hand to steady her.

She takes his hand and grips it tight, bruisingly tight. He doesn’t waver, but keeps his hold on her as they go forward.

“It’s strange how it is still the same, and also so different”, she says. “If I closed my eyes, I could almost believe I was a Padawan again.”

Anakin and Obi-Wan exchange a look. There haven’t been many Jedi who left the Order to become Mandalorians, though they can’t say for Padawans.

“A Padawan?” Obi-Wan asks.

She laughs, bright and airy. He doesn’t see what’s so funny. Younglings weave between their legs, laughing too, and Master Yoda follows them, Grogu perched on his back. He stills when he sees Elai, though.

“Records of you, this Order has. A very long time it has been, Lady Ordo. Welcome here, you are.”

Elai takes her helmet off, smiling.

“I have heard about you, Master Yoda. Congratulations on making Grandmaster. Can you tell me if there are any news of my sister?”  
“Far and few, Master Fay’s reports are, yes”, Master Yoda says with a nod. “A few years back, her last report was. One of the wandering masters, she is.” He lowers his ears. “Miss you, she still does.”  
“And so do I”, Elai replies softly. “If you see her before I do… tell her I still have it.”  
“All these years, still safe, her lightsabre is?” Master Yoda asks, his eyes wide. “Through war, it has been. Lost, we all thought it was.”  
“It served me well, and saved my life more than once”, Elai replies, reaching to the back of her thigh-plates and getting a lightsabre out. “But I feel she should take it back, now.”  
“Thought, I did, that never again, wield a lightsabre she would?”

Elai shakes her head.

“She swore to never lift her ‘sabre against me, or against one of my people, and entrusted it to me when I left. She said I’d need it more than her. As always, she was right.” Her smile goes softer, sadder. “She also said she knew I’d always be more careful with her life than I was with mine. She was right again.”  
“Wait- I thought Master Fay was a legend?” Obi-Wan asks. “Are you telling me she is real?”

Elai laughs, turning to him.

“Boy, Fay is my younger sister”, she replies. “I assure you, she is very much real.”  
“Who is Master Fay?” Anakin chimes in. “I feel like I’m missing some pieces here.”  
“One of the Lost Twenty, Lady Ordo is”, Master Yoda replies, making the two Padawans and the Knight gape at him. “A long, long time ago, that was.”  
“…I am amongst the Twenty?” Elai asks, her eyebrows up in disbelief. “I thought the count started a long time after me.”  
“Never let us forget you, your sister would”, Master Yoda replies with a chuckle. “Though let us add you to the count, she didn’t want to. Say like it, you wouldn’t.”  
“And she was right”, Elai answers. “Unlike the Lost, I didn’t leave because I was disenchanted with the Jedi way of life. I have always loved being a Jedi, and though I left the Order, I still hold to the tenets of our faith.”

The more she talked, the clearer the picture Obi-Wan could paint of her, and he was increasingly fascinated by what he discovered.

“Wait wait- You were a Jedi Master?” Anakin asks. “And you left?”  
“Yes”, Elai simply answers. “Like I said, it was a long time ago, and as you can see, the Force is still with me, and shall be for a long time still.”  
“What was it? That made you leave?”  
“Love”, she replies simply, and turns to look at them. “I left for love. For a Mandalorian, of Clan Ordo, at a time where Jedi and Mandalorians were at war. I had to choose between building a family with that man, and fighting alongside the Order. My choices are mine, and I don’t regret choosing him, brief as our time together was. We raised warriors together, as is our way, until time took him from me. I still find him in the Force, in my deep meditations, and our clan has grown. It was a sacrifice, yes. But it was worth it.”  
“A long, long time ago, that was”, Master Yoda states. “A very long time ago, even for me. Gathered, the Council of Three has, mmh?”  
“We are all here, but I don’t know why yet”, Elai replies. “I wanted to see the Temple first.”  
“Give Mandalorian historical items back, we wanted to, but take a decision alone, armourer Nott couldn’t. The Council’s decision, they said it was to be.”  
“I see”, Elai replies. “Please give my thanks to the Council for this decision.” She smiles softly. “I know what treasures lay hidden in the Temple, and I know the value of such a gift.” She laughs softly. “But oh, you are also giving us a great headache. We are in for _weeks_ of squabbling at best.”

Master Yoda chuckles.

“Much like the Jedi Council, it is, then”, he replies. “Squabble, we do.”  
“Oh I believe we are actually worse”, Elai counters. “There are thirty-three of us, after all. At least, our apprentices must remain silent unless directly called upon, otherwise it’d be impossible to deal with.”

Master Yoda flicks his ears in amusement.

“If follow me, you will, present you to the Council, I will. I know that eager to meet you, they will be.”

Elai seems to stagger for a second, before she nods.

“I would love that. Thank you, Master Yoda.”

Elai’s arrival means that the Council of the Three can gather – it also means celebrations, nights of drinking, brutal sparring, and each one of them trying to show each other up. It means hours of sitting while one of them tells a Mandalorian legend, it means history being remembered and celebrated, it means Remembrances being said together, names of the past, of people long gone, said again. It means, from what Elai recalls of the last one there was, that they must await a sudden surge in pregnancies. Anakin does _not_ find it funny when Obi-Wan subtly tells him he better not be amongst that number, but Korkie does laugh at him.

The Council holds its sessions within the Jedi Temple, which offered up a room when no other place seemed appropriate, and which turned out to be especially appropriate when they can then discuss each item while having it under their eyes. Anakin’s gift with the Force turns out to garner their interest, and though he gives no opinion, he does talk more than other apprentices if only to say what he feels from the items.

“So what, you sit around and talk all day?” Oria asks, leaning against Anakin with a pout, his fingers combing through her hair. “Sounds incredibly boring, I thought it would be more interesting.”

Neraa snorts, tugging his _ven’riduur_ closer while he sips at his tankard.

“Oria, just because the only things you are interested in are weapons, brawls and sex, doesn’t mean it’s the same for the rest of the galaxy. Those are historical items with an incredible value, of _course_ they need to argue over them. It’s a historical moment, we are so lucky to live through it!”

She hums, unconvinced.

“Think I can add another armourer to my hunt-prizes?” she purrs, looking at her friends, and Neraa snorts.  
“Well you can try. I’d say your best chance is with Sanzee. Plus he looks good.”  
“Laan is not bad looking either, but he has a shit personality”, Arkon replies from where he’s dozing on Neraa’s shoulder, and this time Anakin snorts.  
“Laan is a dick”, he says. “He’d probably think you’re trying to spy on him – and anyway, have you seen the way he moves? He’s a lousy lay.”  
“Anakin Skywalker”, Oria says softly. “Do you have something to confess?”  
“Stop looking at me like that, I haven’t kriffed him”, Anakin protests. “And you shouldn’t either, really. Not a good idea.”  
“Says the guy who kriffed a Stewjoni”, Oria retorts. “You looked like you’d been mauled by a beast!”  
“Oria, please, I’m serious. That guy is bad news. He’s… he’s _vile_.”

This time Arkon nods.

“He’s right, Oria. For your own safety, you should stay clear of him. We all should.”

Oria pouts, but nods in agreements, knowing better than to contest their feelings on the matter.

“Aleedy is kinda shy when you don’t know them, but you’re charming. They’d probably agree”, Anakin finally muses. “And as a bonus, you look really good.”  
“I’m gonna kriff their _baju’ad_ ”, Oria decides, and Neraa chokes on his sip of beer.  
“Llo? Oria wake up, she’s never gonna agree!”  
“I’m with Neraa on that one”, Anakin nods. “Besalisk, yes, good idea, but she’s more than double your age. You’re a kid in her eyes, she’s more likely to mother you than take you to bed.”  
“Stop raining on my parade!” Oria whines, kicking his shin – to no avail against the armour.  
“Stop taking impossible gambles!” Arkon retorts. “Pick someone you actually stand a chance to get and we’ll play wingmen!”

Oria huffs, crossing her arms, and flops completely over Anakin. He can feel the moment she has an idea, and tenses for whatever hare-brained scheme she’ll come up with.

“Hey. Think you can arrange a little something with your Senator? She’s very pretty…”  
“I can bring the idea to her”, Anakin replies with a light smile. “But I don’t know what she’ll say, we haven’t talked about any of that yet. She might not even swing that way.”  
“She sure swings yours”, Oria huffs, “but she’s so pretty! I want to-”

Anakin drops a heavy hand over her mouth.

“Think carefully about your next words”, he warns, and scrunches his face. “Ew. Did you just lick my hand?”  
“Ew”, Arkon and Neraa echo. “You don’t even know where it’s been!”

Oria cackles like a hyena and Anakin retaliates by digging his fingers into her ribs, making her squeal and squirm, pleading him to stop – but he just laughs and tickles her more until she’s sliding off the bench and to the ground, wheezing.

“Alright I’m gonna get myself a drink and some better company”, she says, pushing herself off the ground. “Wish me luck!”  
“There’s no-”  
“-such a thing as luck, only the Force”, all three Mandalorians recite in unison. “Yes, we know.”  
“Oya!” Neraa adds, lifting his drink at her. He waits until she’s out of sight to turn towards Anakin, and asks: “I thought Laan was somewhat alright?”  
“He’s not the kind of person you hang out with, and even less invite into your bed”, Anakin replies, his expression much darker. “There’s a reason he’s Death Watch’s armourer. As it stands, after every conversation we have, I meditate with Obi-Wan or Mace. He’s sneaky and has very few qualms about doing things. Oria wouldn’t be so careful – you know her. Laan has a heavy influence on the ‘integration’ program Death Watch uses on its recruit, he knows exactly how to play a brain, no matter the species. That’s why he’s taken to shields that well: he understands instinctively how it all works.”

Arkon winces, understanding what Anakin means, and what danger their carefree friend would put herself in. There’s a silence, and Neraa puts his tankard down to gently massage Anakin’s nape.

“You look tired”, he says. “Maybe spend less time trying to get in Aleedy’s pants or down your Senator’s dresses and more time sleeping, eh?”

His tone, however, doesn’t mask his genuine concern for the deep dark bruises under Anakin’s eyes or how wan he looks. Anakin snorts.

“I wish. There’s so much to do, between my usual training and how baju’ad Elai kicks me around in the salles, and the council sessions with the armourers…”  
“That’s not all there is, though”, Arkon says softly. “Nightmares?”

Anakin visibly hesitates for a second before nodding.

“Just nightmares?” Arkon insists.  
“I don’t know”, Anakin replies. “Some are memories, but others… I don’t know.”  
“Come here”, Neraa says, beckoning him closer, and Anakin leans against his chest with a sigh.  
“There’s so much agitation on Coruscant, the Force feels muddled”, Anakin finally admits. “I almost get headaches. Mace hasn’t been able to really help me train, he’s had to keep to his bed these past few days. I was eager for the Council to gather, but it’s… almost too intense.”  
“Do you want the cuffs?” Neraa asks, dragging sharp nails against his skull to help ease the discomfort.  
“Only if it gets to the point where I can’t handle it anymore”, Anakin replies. “So far, I’ve been doing okay.”  
“Want to get away? Since everyone is here, the house is empty”, Arkon proposes.  
“Sounds like a great idea”, Anakin smiles.

Force, but he loves his friends.

As much as Obi-Wan likes the celebrations at the occasion of the Council of the Three’s gathering, he does have little children to take care of. So while his Padawan is out having fun – which he encouraged, Anakin has been cranky lately, and Obi-Wan knows that his sleep is uneasy - he’s going through the Super Commando Codex once more, his copy of the book so annotated it is horrendous, with a mug of steaming tea by his side and a fuzzy blanket – courtesy of Elath – on his legs when he perceives the half-shielded distress of his sons.

Before he can get up and see what’s wrong, though, Haat is standing there, barefoot and in his pyjamas, holding the stuffed tooka Korkie got him to help. Obi-Wan closes his book and sets it down next to his mug.

“What’s going on, sweetheart? You should be sleeping already. And so should your brothers.”

Haat clumsily signs that he can’t sleep: the Force is too loud, too agitated, even with his brothers trying to shield him together. Obi-Wan bites back a sigh – Anakin has been complaining of the same, Iolar keeps having vision after vision, and the little Grogu is hidden in a cave and has been refusing to come out for anyone or anything. All Jedi feel that sort of… buzz in the Force, with the future vibrating with possibilities, and so many passionate Mandalorians assembled in one place already brimming with life, but the ones most connected to it have it go from merely unpleasant to downright painful.

Obi-Wan pulls the blanket back and opens his arms to Haat, who climbs on the couch and comes snuggle into his lap, letting Obi-Wan replace the blanket and wrap another around his shoulder, gently holding his head against his chest so Haat can focus on the calm rhythm of his beating heart. He slowly starts to hum a tune, a lullaby he could never have found on the holonet or in written form – a lullaby Reve taught him, that she uses to get her daughter to sleep.

_“Ner jatne parjai gar briikasela”_, he sings softly, his fingers gently rubbing against Haat’s scalp.

As he sings, he layers shields over Haat’s mind, one after the other, until he can feel his presence soothe and the little boy falls asleep. He carries him back to his bed, and tucks him in, leaving a gentle kiss on his brow. He feels four minds asleep around him – the fifth is tired, but restless, unable to sleep, and he can hear wild scratching under the covers.

“Runi? Come, _cyar’ika_ , I’ll get you some warm milk”, he whispers, crouching by the bed. “Are you itching?”

He vaguely sees Runi nod, before he straightens, smelling blood. Not much, but blood anyway. He is startled for a second that he can _smell_ it, but recovers quickly from that when he realizes it comes from Runi.

“It hurts”, his little boy whispers, and Obi-Wan lifts him out of the bed and takes him to the fresher.

They are old enough to shower and clothe themselves without his supervision, and Runi eventually insisted that he could put his cream on himself, and get his brothers to do his back. Obi-Wan relented, but now, seeing the blood seep into his pyjamas… Runi takes his pyjamas off so the cleaning droids can try to clean the blood off while it’s fresh, and Obi-Wan sucks in a breath.

“Oh, love, why didn’t you say a thing?” he asks, desolate. “You must hurt horribly.”

Runi sniffles, too tired to keep his sobs in.

“I- I thought you would be mad and think I didn’t put my cream on well”, he weeps, looking down, and Obi-Wan’s heart aches as he carefully pulls him in for a hug.  
“Never, _cyar’ika_. I’m sorry I made you feel like that”, he replies. “What made you think I would be mad? I know you’re very reasonable, Runi. I trust you.”  
“Y-You get mad at Ani’vod”, Runi sniffles again, wiping his running nose with his forearm.

Obi-Wan sighs.

“I get mad at Ani’vod because he is grown. He is an adult who should know better, take care of his health, and disinfect his cuts and scratches. I get mad because he knows what the right thing to do is, and he doesn’t do it. But you are still little, love, and your care is my responsibility. You need to tell me these things.”  
“Okay”, Runi nods. “I’m sorry.”  
“I’m sorry too”, Obi-Wan replies. “C’mon, I’ll get you to the Halls of Healing. We need something better than what I have for that.”

The cream must not be strong enough, if Runi indeed put it on correctly: his skin is dry almost everywhere, but more seriously, it is pink and cracking at the joints, enough for it to bleed. Obi-Wan drapes his robes around Runi after grabbing a clean pyjama and underwear for him, and comes out into the halls. There, he hails one of the nocturnal Jedi, who agrees to keep an eye on his remaining children while he goes to the Halls of Healing.

Master Naavri is on call when he arrives, and she purses her lips when he explains what happened. She purses them further when she sees the damage, her brow furrowing in concern.

“For tonight, I have a pomade laced with bacta I’ll apply in a thick layer everywhere, and bandages to keep it on the skin rather than the clothes, but it is only a temporary solution”, she explains. “His Nautolan DNA seems to wake up more and more as he grows up. Nautolans live underwater, but we both know he isn’t capable of sleeping underwater, or remaining there for an extended period – an hour at the most, for now. The atmosphere of your quarters is ideal for humans, or for Naak’s Togruta biology, but it is far too dry for a Nautolan. He will have to sleep in a more suitable atmosphere.”  
“They won’t like that”, Obi-Wan sighs, “and I don’t like it either. They’ve always been together, the five of them.”  
“Then, maybe moving him to the initiate dorms with the Mon Calamari and Grogu? The atmosphere there is very humid and rather hot, and he won’t be alone.”  
“I will see about doing that. Thank you, Master Naavri.”

It takes a moment for Obi-Wan and the Togruta Healer to apply the pomade all over Runi’s skin, especially where it is more irritated, and wrap gauze, nearly mummifying him – to his great amusement. When they’re done, his face is the only thing not wrapped in a layer of gauze, and he’s blinking his eyes, falling asleep sitting up. Obi-Wan re-wraps him in his robes, thanks Master Naavri again, and brings him back to his quarters.

His boys are all sleeping again, and Anakin sent a comm that he was sleeping outside – which Obi-Wan expected, honestly. He drags a tired hand over his face. He should go to sleep, especially if he has to handle crying _vod’ike_ tomorrow. It’s far later than he planned to stay up. Sighing, he settles down to meditate before bed. He needs it. He really, really needs it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _ven'riduur_ : future spouse, fiancé.  
>  _baju'ad_ : teacher.  
>  _Ner jatne parjai gar briikasela_ : My greatest victory is your happiness.


	47. This is How Your Start A War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Runi moves to the Initiate dorms, and Korkie might actually start a war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize if this chapter feels a bit all over the place - it's not what I had planned at all, but Korkie was like "I WANT TO TALK" and initially I wanted to scrap it/keep it for later but it fits in well with what I have planned for later.
> 
> **WARNINGS: talks of ethnical cleansing** (in regards to the Mandalorians) in this chapter, and all related subjects.
> 
> *
> 
> CT-3381 / Skira, blind.  
> CT-3382 / Tracyn, deaf, blond, golden eyes.  
> CT-3383/ Runi, Nautolan.  
> CT-3384/ Naak, Togruta.  
> CT-3385/Haat, autistic.

Obi-Wan has to steel himself when Runi turns big, watery eyes to him, sniffing lightly. It’s for his own good, he must remind himself.

“I don’t want to go!” Runi says, lips wobbling a bit.  
“You can’t keep on sleeping in human atmosphere”, Obi-Wan repeats gently. “Really, Runi. It’s only your skin now, but it’ll gradually affect your lungs, and then the rest of your organs. I can’t let you keep on sleeping in unsafe atmosphere. You like the initiates in that dorm, don’t you?”  
“But it’s not the same!” Runi says.

Haat is clinging onto his back, Naak gritting his teeth but already packing his brother’s nightclothes. He’s the one who took it the best, who understands on an instinctual level that Runi would eventually be risking his _life_ sleeping with them. Skira is meditating with Anakin after having a major temper tantrum that broke quite a number of glass items. Obi-Wan has to admit Skira’s temper worries him. He knows it is merely his way of expressing his hurt, but it only makes things worse – for everyone, including him.

Obi-Wan sits on the floor and gently brings his sons into his lap.

“I know it’s upsetting”, he says, “and that it feels unfair, but none of us has a choice in this. We can’t sleep in the atmosphere you need, and you can no longer sleep in ours. Now, what we can do is find a way to make it more bearable for you. Master Naavri and I thought you’d like the dorms better than getting your own room, but you do have a say in this.”

Haat signs something, and Runi nods and sighs, hiccupping a sob. Obi-Wan can tell he’s coming to terms with the idea, but also that he’s still scared of sleeping away from his brothers.

“It’s just sleep, sweetheart. You’ll still be there for your bedtime story and your shower, and you’ll come back for breakfast. We’ll still be there for you.”

Anakin comes in right then, and crouches beside him.

“Hey, _vod’ika_. What do you say if I come with you to the dorms tonight, and we sleep together? Would that make you feel better?”  
“You would?” Runi asks, sounding so _hopeful_ Obi-Wan’s heart swells.  
“Sure would”, Anakin nods with a smile. “Only for a night or two, but it should make the transition easier.”

Runi smiles and leaps from Obi-Wan’s arms into Anakin’s, who hugs him back tightly. Naak has packed two pairs of pyjamas and Runi’s favourite blanket, along with one of the night lights. His heart melts when he sees that it’s the Mandalorian one, which is their favourite, and had been rather expensive.

The boys all scamper off to cuddle together, and Obi-Wan turns to Anakin.

“Where’s Skira?”  
“Meditating still”, Anakin replies. “I gave him my meditation necklace; it seems to help him work through his anger.”  
“You love it though?” Obi-Wan points out.  
“I can always make another. He needed it more than I do”, Anakin shrugs, but he seems sombre. “I don’t like seeing them so distraught.”  
“Neither do I”, Obi-Wan sighs. “You won’t sleep well in the dorms”, he warns, “but it was a great idea.”

Anakin shrugs again.

“I can deal with a bad night of sleep or two. It’s not like I’ve been sleeping well either way”, he replies, and Obi-Wan gently cradles his head in his hand.  
“Still, thank you.” He pauses. “You don’t sleep any better?”  
“Got a full eight hours last night, but I was just… exhausted. Still am. It was more passing out than falling asleep.” He scrubs at his eyes. “And the visions aren’t even helpful, most of the time, it’s nothing clear. And when it’s clear, it’s-” He gulps, and leans into Obi-Wan’s touch. “I keep seeing people I love die. Something is coming, something big and bad.”

Obi-Wan gently cards his fingers through Anakin’s short hair.

“Does it help when you sleep at your friends’? I’m sure we could have a derogation, at least until the Gathering is over.”  
“Getting kriffed into sleep isn’t a good long-term solution, and certainly not one I’m eager to defend to the Council”, Anakin replies with a snort, “and I keep the cuffs for… if it gets real bad. How is Iolar coping?”  
“Not that well”, Obi-Wan grimaces. “And don’t think you can deflect that easily.”  
“I’m not deflecting anything!” Anakin replies, looking offended, slightly amused, and a bit worried.  
“You are”, Obi-Wan insists. “You still haven’t gone to the Healer.”  
“ _Bantha poodoo_ , Obi-Wan, I’m careful! That’s not necessary!”

Obi-Wan only crosses his arms, and looks at him expectantly.

“You _know_ the Temple guidelines. It’s part of your health-check, and given that you see fit to be sexually active _and_ find your partners in non-human species, it’s doubly important that you go for them. I’ll agree that most of the time, they’re not needed, and that seeing as you can’t carry, that’s something less you need to check for. But it’s better, if there ever is an issue, that it’s caught early rather then, I don’t know, while you’re away on a mission.” He waits to see if Anakin will do anything other than grumble, and when Anakin opens his mouth to, no doubt, say again how _unnecessary_ it is, resumes: “Besides, I’m pretty sure you told me three months ago that you were due for another implant. You know better than to leave this kind of thing to the last moment.”

This time, his Padawan outright _pouts_ and crosses his arms.

“They make me itchy, depressed, and fuck up my hormone-levels.”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes.

“ _And_ they keep you from impregnating most species even if you were to forget, decide not to use a condom, or need to participate in one of the numerous fertility rituals across the galaxy, protect you from most sexually-transmitted diseases, and from a vast area of plants that _love_ to mess with human and near-human hormones. Or do I need to make you sit into one of _those_ lectures again?”

The way Anakin shudders, blanches, and shakes his head is outright funny, and Obi-Wan’s lips twitch into a smile under his beard.

“Good, then you will schedule an appointment _and actually go to it_ ”, Obi-Wan says. “I don’t care one bit about your sex-life and there are _plenty_ of things I’d rather ignore completely, but your health is my concern.”  
“I know, Master”, Anakin replies with a sigh.

There are still Mandalorians arriving on Coruscant for the gathering. The Council of the Three has been in meetings for three weeks already, and the tensions are growing with the New Mandalorians, who see it as a deliberate provocation. Obi-Wan doubts Satine is behind it – it isn’t nearly as subtle as she would have made it, and besides, she’d be even more careful considering their son is there, on Coruscant.

They would have stopped him, if they’d known what he intended to do. As it stands, though, it is _far_ too late to stop anything when the video of Korkie addressing the Senate from the Naboo pod is released to the public.

“-the Republic has made grievous injure and injury to my people”, the blond teen is saying on the screen, and Obi-Wan barely stops himself from slamming his head down onto the counter at _Jatnese_ , where he is when the video appears on the holoscreen.  
“Something much worse than most of you seem to think. What you call the _Excision_ , we call _Dral An_. The Annihilation. Mandalore is a barren wasteland, infighting, brother against brother. Those who thrived are my people. Those who died are my people too.” He gives them a long look. “ _Peace_ does not mean _justice_. Where is the justice in what happened on Galidraan? The _jetiise_ made amends. For killing so many of our own, unjustly. For taking our _Mand’alor_ from us.”

His hand is trembling.

“ _I_ claim that because of this body’s actions, because of _your_ actions, _Mand’alor_ Jango Fett was taken from us, his people slaughtered and made into pariahs, hunted for their lives. _I_ claim that the Republic unjustly acted on Mandalore, by giving power to the New Mandalorian faction, and in doing so, condemned our people to a slow death via cultural genocide.” He takes a breath. “As an adult citizen of Mandalore, I demand the New Mandalorian government be recognized as established through a coup-d’état by this body. I demand the Republic no longer interferes in Mandalorian matters, and recognizes our _Mand’alor_ once one has been elected according to our laws. The actions of a few shouldn’t condemn the whole. The Mandalorian people wants _peace_ , and those who don’t are misguided fools. The time of our Empire is over and long gone. There will be no falsely glorious conquest, no battlefield drenched in blood in the name of expansion. This time is over and gone, and it is time for us to go forward. To fight the wars worth fighting for. Against slavery. To push for the discovery of new worlds, and the protection of ours.” He takes a deep breath, cheeks flushed a light green from his passion. “The _Jetiise_ make amends. Will you?”

The video cuts there, to the political reporter, an enthusiastic Twi’lek.

“Korkie Kryze’s address shook the Senate. The New Mandalorian government has yet to reply to this enflamed declaration where the young Naboo aide declared his own aunt, Duchess Satine Kryze of Kelevala, to be an unlawful leader. While Mandalorian history is fraught with wars and leaders being overthrown, the accusation Mr. Kryze made there was against Republic interference on a non-Republic world. Chancellor Palpatine assured in a public address that the matter would be investigated, to establish whether Mr. Kryze’s concerns were true, or the reflect of a young mind visibly strained between two conflicting heritages: his New Mandalorian education, and the traditional one he is currently receiving at the behest of his father, Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi.”  
“I need to comm Satine”, Obi-Wan says, standing up, and Dahl motions him up, to his home.

Obi-Wan thanks him and pulls his comm out, calling Satine as soon as the door is closed behind him. It’ll be incredibly early for her, but he doubts she’s sleeping, considering the situation. She replies immediately, her mouth set into a thin line.

“Obi-Wan”, she says in greeting.  
“I just saw Korkie’s address to the Senate”, Obi-Wan says, and grimaces. “I had no idea he would do such a thing, I would have stopped him otherwise.”  
“Make sure he is safe, please”, she says, looking tired and tense. “I’m- My control over the New Mandalorian council has been deeply shaken by his declaration.” She lets out a laugh. “I might very well be deposed in the coming weeks or months. My Prime Minister himself thinks it might be better if I handed off my position as head of state.” Her eyes harden. “Korkie has put himself in incredible danger. His vision of things won’t gain him any favour here, and Death Watch will probably be after him. We both know they aren’t as gone as I have to pretend they are.”  
“Our son might as well have started a war”, Obi-Wan sighs. “And we’re right in the middle of it.”  
“Obi-Wan, the way he talks… Did he swear to the _Resol’nare?_ Have I-” she gulps. “Have I lost him?”  
“He hasn’t sworn, no, but his beliefs in your pacifist ideals have been deeply shaken. He is peaceful, Satine, but he craves _justice_. And he has been spending a lot of time with my Padawan. I’ve told you about Anakin. There’s nothing _peaceful_ about slavery or the ways to fight it.”  
“I remember”, she replies. “‘When the world wants you dead, survival is an act of violence’.” She shakes her head. “I cannot ascribe to it, Obi-Wan. _Violence_ is what tore my family apart, and I won’t stand for it. I will not tolerate another civil war.”

Obi-Wan feels something cold and terrible sink in his chest.

“Think carefully before you act, Satine. Please. Don’t let peace become a lure. You might not be able to preserve Mandalore from further violence.”  
“ _I_ did nothing to lead to this”, she retorts. “Your Council decided to give back historical items to _violent outsiders_. Those are war criminals, sheltered away on Coruscant.”  
“War criminals?! The armourers?! Satine, they are the traditional guardians of Mandalorian ways! Them alone know all the stories, all the legends, all the truths about Mandalore and its people! Most of them are scholars, travellers, or teachers. Surely you haven’t forgotten that?”  
“They teach how to make weapons, how to fight. They make armours. Will you dare say that they are peaceful?”  
“Not all of them”, Obi-Wan admits, “but I thought you knew better than to reduce people to a stereotype. I’m disappointed to see I was wrong. Rest assured: I will make sure Korkie is safe. Have a good day, Satine.”

He shuts down the call and takes a deep breath. Amazing how even years later, she still manages to make his blood boil with a few barbed words. He’d say it’s a miracle Korkie was ever conceived, if he didn’t know himself better.

He takes another deep breath when he mulls back on what he learnt from that call. If Satine were deposited, Prime Minister Almec would take her place, and Obi-Wan isn’t sure he would have her moral standing. Mandalore would then easily fall into anarchy, leaving it open to crime syndicates. The _last_ thing they needed was another stronghold for one of those.

There’s no one to see him and remind him his behaviour isn’t that of a Jedi, so he sinks his face into his hands and wails out a long “Korkieeee”, tired and desperate. He’d like to say he didn’t sign up for this, but he _did_ adopt and educate his son. He takes another deep breath, and calls Anakin – of course, _of course_ he gets told to leave a message. His comm, thankfully, trills back just after. Audio only.

“Anakin is in a meeting with Korkie and the Chancellor right now”, a voice tells him, and it takes him a moment to recognize Neraa, one of Anakin’s closest friends. “We’re waiting for the call from Mandalore.”  
“I see”, he replies. “Can you keep me updated?”  
“Sure. You know, your Chancellor looks like an old prune. You don’t suppose I can challenge him to become Chancellor in his stead?”

Obi-Wan lets out a snort at the suggestion, though he recognizes the crude attempt at lifting his mood up.

“ _Please_ don’t start another diplomatic incident. You do realize it could be taken as an act of war?”  
“He does make me want to commit murder”, Neraa admits. “I’m not as gifted in the Force as my _ven’riduur_ , but he feels sleazy. Could be just my gut instincts, but I usually trust those.”  
“Politicians are rarely trustworthy”, Obi-Wan replies.  
“Well from where I stand, it looks like he is attempting to convince Korkie to retract his claim by making him look childish and immature. Not winning any brownie-points with the _Mando’ade_ , or with Senator Amidala, by the way. That makes me think, did you know that _Jetii_ mind-tricks don’t work on Taungs? Most people think it’s the _beskar_ , but Taungs are immune.”  
“And so are plenty of species”, Obi-Wan replies, smiling now at Neraa’s cheer. “Like the Hutts, the Toydarians, or the Yinchorri. I’m afraid I don’t have this immunity, but I have shields to make up for that.”  
“Got mind-tricked?” Neraa asks with interest.  
“Jedi learn to resist those and build shields against them, and I was affected. There’s also the fact that sometimes, we use mild sleep-suggestions on each other when unable to find sleep. You need to be receptive for it to work, but even a receptive Hutt wouldn’t fall asleep from such a suggestion.”  
“That’s a neat trick”, Neraa says. “Gotta go, the comm is on. I’ll keep you up to date.”

Obi-Wan finds himself smiling. It’s no wonder Anakin gets on well with Neraa, when he is so skilled at distracting from worries. He finds himself breathing easier, when he was feeling so close to panic earlier. Korkie is with Anakin and Neraa, and there are Senate Guards about. He’ll be safe until he gets home and Obi-Wan can ground him.

Well, maybe not ground him, but give him a serious talking to. He wonders how he convinced Padmé to ally herself to him enough to let him use the Naboo pod. Her, and the Queen of Naboo. He carefully sends his inquiry to Anakin through their open bond – his Padawan is focused on the meeting, but the bond is open and giving him a feedback of Anakin’s tumultuous emotions.

Anakin sends him back impressions of the Trade Federation, of invasions, cultural annihilation, and finally stop over an image. He recognizes Sundari, though barely, but the people assembled… He had never seen so many people with blonde hair and blue eyes assembled in one place. His heart clenches when he sees no armour in the very heart of Mandalore, and then- He blinks, taking the image and turning it over in his mind. More than no armour, he sees very little differences in terms of skin tone and hair colour, and almost no alien.

He hardly resists the urge to throw up when he realizes the New Mandalorians went through a systemic ethnic cleansing. This can’t be Satine’s doing, or at least, not the one he knew – not the one he loved. _This_ would have prompted Padmé to take action. He hadn’t realized the situation was so bad, but Mandalore’s diversity came mostly from adoptions and people taking up the _Resol’nare_. Anyone was welcome to swear to it – he is proof enough of it. But with the New Mandalorians rejecting adoption unless it is last resort, and doing away with the _Resol’nare_ , there is no one coming in that isn’t either born in the system, or married in – and likely, fitting whatever’s karked up agenda is going on.

_Not looking good_ , Neraa sends him over comms. _Chancellor wants to sweep it under the rug, St. Amidala and Kor’ika won’t let him. Anakin ready for explosion._

Sweet Force, just what they needed. He makes his way back downstairs, and is halfway there when he is hit by a wave of _rage-anger-disgust-dismay_ that nearly turns his stomach. Downstairs, in the _Jatnese_ , all the Mandalorians are on pads, looking over something and _seething_. All, from the most moderate Old Clans, to the harshest Death Watch members who came there. The only one who doesn’t look surprised is Laan, which can’t mean anything good.

“What’s going on?” Obi-Wan asks Dahl, who kriffing _broke a glass_ from clenching his fingers over it.  
“Classified New Mandalorians meeting reports were dropped on the holo-net”, Dahl replies, his voice shaking with anger. “They didn’t go through with it in the end, and I can’t fucking believe it’s thanks to Pre Vizsla – _ka’ra_ know I fucking hate that faithless turncoat – but they had plans to sterilize all the warrior and non-human Mandalorian population.”

Oh, _ka’ra_. They’ll take a miracle to avoid civil war now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _ven'riduur_ : fiancé (lit: future spouse).


	48. Lash Your Tongue of Bane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While everyone is still reeling from Korkie's speech in the Senate, Pre Vizsla decides now is the time to act.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title of the chapter from "This means war" by Avenged Sevenfold.  
> I'm sorry for the delay I got distracted by... fics. BUT ALSO I HAVE HAD IDEAS.
> 
> There's a lot in this chapter.
> 
> *
> 
> CT-3381 / Skira, blind.  
> CT-3382 / Tracyn, deaf, blond, golden eyes.  
> CT-3383/ Runi, Nautolan.  
> CT-3384/ Naak, Togruta.  
> CT-3385/Haat, autistic.

“Extremely troubling, this all is”, Master Yoda says. “Many mistakes, it seems the Jedi made, obeying to the Senate. Pay the price, the Mandalorians did. Our duty to help, it is.”  
“They may not want our help”, Master Windu points out. “True, this is the first time our peoples have such positive interactions, but they seem to be sick of interference.”  
“We find ourselves in a precarious position”, Master Koon replies. “Our Mandalorian Jedi will be implicated – they cannot simply ignore the matter. We have agreed that they aren’t neutral, and the Order as a whole is tied to the Senate. The question, however, is whether we should send more Knights, if we do send help.”  
“Forget the Knights and Masters serving away in the _Kot’tigaanu_ program, we should not”, Master Yaddle adds. “Formed bonds with their students, most have. Neutral, they cannot be either. In a dangerous position, they will find themselves.”  
“Should we recall them, then?” Master Poof says with a frown. “It seems counter-productive.”  
“I say we should let them assess the danger, but make them aware that should they be threatened, they are to return”, Master Piell replies.

Master Yaddle chuckles.

“Underestimate Mandalorian attachment, you do”, she chides gently. “Let them come to harm, their students won’t. Prove that, the attack on Kuat did. Defend them, they will, and let them leave, they might not, if unwise, they think the decision is.”  
“Meditated on this you have?” Master Yoda asks, his ears pointing up with curiosity.  
“Yes”, Master Yaddle says. “Many of them, worry about their attachments, they do. Talk with them, I do, but leave us, many might. Confronted to choices, they find themselves. Already one of our Knights I have recalled, when with child, she found herself.”  
“This kind of accident has already happened”, Master Windu points out. “At least once a year, we get a Knight or a Senior Padawan carrying a child. It has never been a problem before. True, we have relaxed the rules after the _Vod’ike_ arrived, but the choice remains the same.”

Master Yoda is silent, watching is counterpart with great interest.

“Think our ways, we should change, you do?”  
“Questioning them, I am”, Master Yaddle replies. “But the matter at the moment, it is not. On the brink of war, Mandalore is. Our priority, this should be.”

Obi-Wan can’t say he has slept a lot, but to be perfectly fair, the conditions aren’t exactly conducive to sleep. With all the armourers on Coruscant, a coordinated raid on Mandalore is a very real possibility. He can’t quite believe that they would finally unite like this – and he doesn’t really like it. The whole thing _stinks_ of Sith manipulation – and careful talks with Elai have made it clear that there is indeed a Sith on Coruscant, powerful enough to cloud the Force and mask themselves in the Force. She could never forget the feel of it, and he has to agree with her: that kind of oily feeling in the Force can’t be forgotten. He could never forget how Maul felt.

The world seems to be tittering on an edge, and they all watch with rapt attention to see on which side it will fall. War seems almost inevitable now, given how _angry_ the _Mando’ade_ are. And he gets it, he is so angry too, that the New Mandalorians would even _dare_ to think of such a thing, and the minutes didn’t reveal just an off-hand comment but active planning. He read them, again and again, stopping over Pre’s blatant indignation. Pre might have been Death Watch when they met, but he still recognizes him there, even in the midst of a New Mandalorian meeting.

Obi-Wan looks up when Laan’s comm blips insistently, and then that of all armourers. The man walks up to the counter, and Obi-Wan sees Anakin nod at Sathi and tug Korkie away, to bring him to him. Korkie only wanted to make the galaxy react – he never thought his words might starts a war.

“SILENCE”, Dahl calls, as he switches on the holo-screen and inputs a specific frequency.

A video starts, taken in what looks like a war-room. A Mandalorian is facing the camera, their helmet painted blue and grey, the Vizsla clan’s sigil painted on their helmet. Anakin gasps lightly.

“That’s Jai!”  
“Jai?” Obi-Wan asks lowly.  
“I met him on Arvala-7. It’s not his name, just what he told me to call him. I’d know his armour.”

Obi-Wan hums, a feeling of foreboding rising. The date written in a corner of the screen lets them know this was filmed about five hours prior.

“ _Su’cuy gar, Mando’ade_ ”, the helmeted figure says, signing his words as he speaks, and Obi-Wan notices how the Death Watch faction tap their heart in respect, confirming his guess as to who it might be. “Many of you know my _bes’troan_. I have led Death Watch for close to ten years now, since the death of Tor Vizsla. I have done so from the shadows, our people weakened, until we could gain enough strength to walk back into the light. Many of you also know I should be _Mand’alor_ by right.”

He lights up the Darksabre, which is as foreboding as Obi-Wan remembers.

“But the situation has changed, and the galaxy is now aware of how our people as a whole has been wronged, of the crimes the New Mandalorians committed. Death Watch, I know you will follow me. This message is to our Old Clans and True Mandalorian survivors _vode_.”

The man extinguishes the Darksabre again, and reaches for his helmet, taking it off. Obi-Wan sucks in a breath, sucker-punched. Fifteen years have passed, and yet Pre still looks mostly the same.

“My name is Pre, head of clan Vizsla. For years now, I have been infiltrated amongst the New Mandalorians, witnessing their depravation first-hand, and curving their worst policies when I could. I wasn’t always successful. I’m sure by now, you have all read the minutes I managed to send out to you. My people.”

“I am now giving the New Mandalorian government and its Duchess sitting on the throne in Sundari, soiling our glorious past, an ultimatum. You will step down from your Republic-given power, and be exiled to Kelevala, where you will live under Mandalorian watch as a world under our power, for all your crimes against us. To the people currently living under the New Mandalorian regimen: renounce the name of Mandalorians, or swear to the _Resol’nare_. The New Mandalorians – the _false_ Mandalorians – have lied to you. We are not all warriors. Many were farmers before the civil war, and merchants, traders. Not all are meant to be commandos. This is the _Resol’nare_ : "Education and armor, self-defense, our tribe, our language, our leader—all help us survive." The children currently held within the _orphanages_ you faithless built will be adopted into Mandalorian clans, to be raised with honour and thrive.”

Pre pauses, blue eyes striking as he stares into the camera.

“I give you one week to make your decision. If you decide that you’d rather not listen, and plunge Mandalore into _war_ once more, then so be it. We will meet you on the battlefield, wipe you out, and raise your children as our own, in the ways that should have been theirs. We will give them a heritage that will last a thousand years.”

He pauses again, his stance relaxing slightly, going from threatening to assured, confident and welcoming.

“ _Vode_ ”, he calls. “Old Clans. _Haat Mando’ade_. We have been at odds before. I do not ask of you to accept me as your _Mand’alor_. This is question that hasn’t been resolved yet, and unlike my father, I will not be a coward and take the title from a man I haven’t duelled according to our ways. This is not what I’m asking from you now. I am asking, if the worst comes, if the New Mandalorians hiding in their cities of glass are fool enough to refuse a peaceful surrender, and agreeable terms for them, that you fight with us. You have been wronged too. You have a right to vengeance. Death Watch is strong enough to take them, but with your help, innocents might be more easily spared. Overwhelming force would take the fight away from the New Mandalorians. It is not wrong to want peace, my people. Not after we strived and fought amongst ourselves for so long. _Arasuum_, the sloth-god, has tempted the New Mandalorians, and succeeded, while _Kad Ha’rangir_ tested us for our betterment. You deserve a peace that is born from justice, not meek submissiveness. Mandalorians have always been free. Fight with us. Children of the Watch, _Jetiise_. This call is for you too. Ready your weapons, and be ready for war. _Oya Manda!”_

The transmission cuts, and the silence that rings is deafening. It is broken all at once by an even worse chaos, shouts echoing – and yet, Obi-Wan still _feels_ the sob that chokes Korkie. He instinctively pulls him close, letting him hide in his arms, feeling his son shake and tremble.

“That’s not what I wanted”, he whimpers miserably, and Obi-Wan could have guessed that much. “I _trusted_ him”, he sobs, anger mixing with sorrow, “I trusted him and he betrayed me.”

Obi-Wan is certainly not about to make excuses for Pre, so he holds his son tighter, letting Korkie hide his face in the crook of his neck. The gesture, instinctive, seems to help him calm down a bit. The whole _Jatnese_ is nearly rioting now, even with all thirty-three armourers present. Maybe _especially_ because of them. Obi-Wan wants nothing more than to leave and go back to the Temple and cuddle all his sons and make sure everything is alright, but he _is_ head of Clan Kenobi. It means he has a duty, and power of decision.

What will he do? Make his clan join in Pre’s crusade, should the New Mandalorians prove themselves to be complete fools? Or forbid them from joining? He knows Iolar and Elath, they have to be seething, frothing at the mouth at the perspective of going back to Mandalore and make the New Mandalorians pay. Vengeance and retribution are terrible things that the Mandalorians swear by, and that the Jedi avoid. It is Elai who calms the crowd with an impressive use of the Force.

“ _K’udesii!”_, she howls from where she perched on Dahl’s counter. “Vizsla gave a week to the New Mandalorians to come to a decision. It means we all have a week to decide too. Our anger is great, just as is the injury we were dealt, but many of us have clan-members who succumbed to the temptation of an easy peace. How many more were fed lies, how many more have no idea what it _means_ to be Mandalorian? Should they die before getting the chance of being given a soul? You have all welcomed Korkie when he arrived, mired in false truths. We all know he is well on his path to be one of us. We all saw him defend us. How many more are just like him, blinded by fear and misinformation? Do not make the grave insults the New Mandalorian Council made us the responsibility of a people who, like us, suffered, and like us, survived. Wait and see, _ner vode_. Their acts will talk for themselves.”

Obi-Wan glares at her, peeling his lips back to show his fangs, when Elai turns the attention to the son he holds cradled against him. He doesn’t even realize an inhuman growl made its way out of his throat until everyone in the vicinity, Anakin included, takes a step back. It’s enough to make him stop all-together, blinking, surprised.

“Go back to your homes”, Dahl calls. “Great changes are upon us, no matter how this goes. Take time with your clan, your family. Talk to your children. Hold your spouses.” He pauses. “Let me close the cantina to be with my _riduur_.”

The implication draws some jeers from the crowd, but they must see the wisdom of his words and leave the cantina somewhat orderly. Obi-Wan’s little clan, minus his youngest sons, gathers around him.

“Anakin, can you get the _vod’ike_ from the Temple? We’re dining at Dex’s, I know he’ll have a private room for us to use.”

Anakin nods, and gently ruffles Korkie’s hair before leaving. Elath looks at him worriedly.

“Do you have taken a decision yet?” he asks.  
“No”, Obi-Wan admits. “We will talk about this together. As a clan.”  
“As a clan”, Iolar agrees. “Do you think Master Koon will be fine caring for Bodhi a little longer?”

Obi-Wan smiles reassuringly.

“He has cared for all five of my little ones. I assure you, he’ll be fine.”

They make their way out of Little Manda’yaim and a little lower, down to Dex’s dinner. The Besalisk is more than happy to see them, and to open the little room he keeps for some guests – Children of the Watch, it seems, really enjoy getting a meal there. It is not the first time Obi-Wan brings his children here, and though he trusts Dex, the less people know, the better it is. They order, Obi-Wan trusting Anakin to place his order and retrieve his own meal before he joins them, and Flo comes soon after with their whole meals, and that of the _vod’ike_ – Obi-Wan would like to say he orders the children’s menu for them, but it wouldn’t be _nearly_ enough. They haven’t even hit puberty yet and eat like black holes, it makes him afraid for the future. His Padawan arrives not long after, brothers in tow, and once they are seated, they take their helmets off and dive in, to Elath’s amusement.

“Whatever your decision is, _ad_ , I’m too old to go and fight”, Elath finally says. “Training _ade_ is alright, but war is beyond me now.”  
“There won’t be a war”, Iolar says with confidence, and then sighs at his own bout of prescience. “Well, at least there’s that”, he chuckles tiredly, rubbing his brow.  
“Do you see something?”, Obi-Wan asks gently.  
“There was nothing clear this morning, but now…” He frowns. “Unity for Mandalore.” He shakes his head. “It’s blurry, everything is changing, many things are mere _details_ , but I see unity for Mandalore. I see… Padmé and lily entwined, rebirth and-”  
“-Prosperity as one”, Anakin finishes, “kyber heart in beskar skin, to fight evil un-foreseen.”  
“How-” Iolar starts, blinking.  
“This prophecy kept coming to me until I had my armour”, Anakin replies, showing his vambraces etched with lilies and padmés.  
“Lilies are mom’s symbol”, Korkie finally says. “They symbolize peace and prosperity, so she chose them for her rule.”  
“Padmé and lily entwined… It could mean you”, Obi-Wan points out. “After all, you’re the one working with Padmé. But it could mean something else. Prophecies are strange in that they are always vague enough to come true several times.”

Anakin glares – he dislikes prophecies ever since he found himself at the core of the “Chosen One” nonsense Qui-Gon has seen fit to throw upon him. Maybe it is true. Maybe it isn’t. Either way, it isn’t a burden a nine years old child should have borne.

“She is in danger, isn’t she?”

Obi-Wan sighs. Satine is smart, but she’s also incredibly stubborn. He can’t say what she’ll choose. Her world is falling apart once more, and there is no way she’ll be able to pick up the pieces this time. She’ll never wear armour, he’s sure of that. But would she bow to Pre’s ultimatum? After what was revealed, after her son’s speech, after the betrayal she must feel in Pre’s actions?

He doesn’t have time to answer: Korkie’s comm rings, and his son gasps and picks it up.

“It’s mom”, he says, and Obi-Wan feels himself smile – it’s the second time today Korkie called her that.

A tiny hologram appears: Satine looks tired and grim, but determined. Obi-Wan knows that look well. Her face still softens at the sight of Korkie.

“Hello Kor’ika”, she says, and Korkie smiles back.  
“M- Aunt Satine, did you see Pre’s speech?”  
“I did”, she replies. “Either way, I was deposited yesterday evening. My Prime Minister, Almec, is running the show now, though people don’t know that yet.” Her serious expression comes back. “I intend to negotiate with Pre myself. I don’t know if I can make him see reason or…” She sighs.  
“Satine, the terms of surrender were rather generous already”, Obi-Wan points out, worried for her safety.  
“Our people need to make their choices for themselves”, Satine cuts him. “I’ve always been sure I did the right thing, but after seeing… what my Council did behind my back, the meetings they had while I was recovering from giving birth… I’ve been betrayed on all sides”, she says, and Korkie flinches. “I want to know more about his plans, and what he is willing to give.” She frowns lightly. “I am hoping we can meet peacefully and honourably, but it is Death Watch we’re talking about. I wanted to call, just in case…”  
“Surely they wouldn’t kill you!” Korkie protests.

Elath shakes his head with an expression of regret.

“There’s nothing less sure, _ad’ika_. Some would have no hesitation killing the Duchess who led our people to a slow death. And your aunt might yet be the most vicious.”  
“My… aunt?” Korkie says softly.  
“Bo-Katan is _alive?”_ Satine says shrilly, clearly taken aback.  
“Everyone in Death Watch knows she’s one of Pre’s most faithful”, Iolar replies. “I was still a child when she arrived, but I remember her well.” He shakes his head. “For all intents and purposes, she might as well be dead to you, Duchess.”

Satine is sitting there, looking shell-shocked.

“I thought… We were so young when our father died, and we were already worlds apart.”

There is a look of deep sadness on Elath face.

“You wouldn’t remember, young as you are, but before Tor came to power, Clan Kryze and Clan Vizsla were allies. There even were talks, at your birth, of betrothing you to Pre. When your father died, and most of your clan was unable to take Bo-Katan in, it didn’t seem out of place for Tor to take her in his dubious care. At the time, most of us thought it to be a good idea, a way for the two Houses to keep fostering peace. And in a twisted way, Bo-Katan might well consider Tor and his spouse her _buire_. They raised her into a weapon of war, and she took to their ways far better than Pre ever did.”

Obi-Wan is sure of one thing: he never saw Bo-Katan when he was infiltrated in Death Watch. But, now, conversations he over-heard suddenly make sense. Pre’s silence on her continued existence might be the most telling, though.

“Pre… doesn’t like her much, I guess?”

Elath shrugs.

“I think it’s complicated. They might get along better now, but as children and teens… they had a vicious rivalry going on, that Jai Vizsla alimented. She wanted her son to prevail, but Tor favoured Bo-Katan as much as he could without officially adopting her. It never completely succeeded, if only because Bo-Katan has always admired and looked up to Pre as an older brother, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Pre was wounded and held resentment for her over this.”  
“Oh Force what a mess”, Obi-Wan groans.

Satine still looks like she’s deeply in shock, but now she also looks like she might be violently ill. Obi-Wan knew already that Tor had fucked up Pre grandly, but Pre’s mother had already been dead when they met. Now, it seems she was as much a culprit in this as Tor was.

“Satine?” he hears Anakin say. “Satine, here breathe with me.”

Kark, yeah, she’s panicking, _of course_ she’s panicking. They wait as Anakin leads her into breathing exercises until she has calmed down enough to talk.

“I just wanted… in case I don’t come back”, she finally says. “I wanted to tell you I love you so, so much, my _k’ori’khi_ , and I’m very proud of the man you’re becoming. I trust Obi-Wan to care for you.”

There’s a bit of silence as Korkie wipes some tears.

“I love you too, Au- mom. I love you. Please come back. I want to hug you again.”

Satine’s smile is brittle, and she cuts the call, leaving a heavy silence behind her. Obi-Wan tugs Korkie against his side.

“She’ll be fine”, he promises, even though it’s not a promise he can make. “Your mother is stronger than she looks. Pre should be afraid.”

Korkie replies with a wet chuckle. Whatever happens, now, there’s nothing left to do but wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _su'cuy gar, Mando'ade_ : Hello, children of Mandalore.  
>  _bes’troan_ : Short for _beskar-troan_ , iron-face = the helmet as a Mandalorian’s face.  
>  _vode_ : siblings.  
>  _Arasuum_ : The sloth-god, who sought to tempt the clans and drag them down into stagnation and idle consumption.  
>  _Kad Ha'rangir_ : The destroyer-god, whose tests and trials forced change and growth upon the clans he chose to be his people.  
>  _Oya Manda!_ : Expression of Mandalorian solidarity and perpetuity: emotional and assertive.  
>  _K'udesii!_ : Calm down! (order).  
>  _k'ori'khi_ : nickname Satine has for Korkie, it means "stay little".

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it, I'll do my best to keep my updates regular (I'll _try_ for a weekly update, try being a key word here).
> 
> \- _beskar'gam_ : Mandalorian armour.  
> \- _Mando'ad/e_ : Mandalorian(s).  
> \- _“Re'turcye mhi, adiike.”_ : Goodbye, children (literally: maybe we'll see each other again).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Chapter 17 vambraces](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25616104) by [Yuurei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuurei/pseuds/Yuurei)
  * [Su Cuy'gar](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26705863) by [Addleton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Addleton/pseuds/Addleton)
  * [Meditation on Arvala-7](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29499954) by [FavoriteGinger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FavoriteGinger/pseuds/FavoriteGinger)




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